


No Fate but that which We Make

by Primarina (PastelBrachypelma)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Apocalypse, Battle, Demonic Possession, Demons, Deus Ex Machina, Eating, F/M, Food, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Messiah, Possession, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Canon, The Messiah - Freeform, Whump, only in good omens can a story be tagged both as post apocalypse and apocalypse at the same time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-05-12 17:07:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 27,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19233460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastelBrachypelma/pseuds/Primarina
Summary: "And night will be no more. They will need no light of lamp or sun, for the Lord God will be their light, and they will reign forever and ever."-Revelation 22:5





	1. Prologue: In the Beginning

Three years after the Not-so-Apocalypse, a little girl was born to a young Chinese woman who had been raped nine months ago. Something had told her with all its might to keep the baby and now, after hours of agonizing labor, there she was, smiling brightly up at her mother. She hadn’t been crying, and her mother thought maybe she was stillborn. But no, here she was, alive and healthy.

Her mother took one look at her and said (in her native tongue, of course), “Welcome my little Ming-Shi. My light of the world.”

Miles away in Tadfield, England, Anathema and Newt Pulsifer stumbled out of their brand new minivan and began fighting with the buckles on a car seat and bickering to each other. Little Charity Pulsifer, aged one, stared at her parents with a fist firmly shoved into her mouth. Or, perhaps, she was looking at her little mirror perched on the car seat, where she could see two men, one dressed in black and one in white, sitting on a park bench some ways way.

“You know, Crowley,” Aziraphale mused, tilting his head slightly in the demon’s direction, “I never thought you could be so soft.”

“Shut up,” Crowley drawled. “I noticed Anathema was pregnant last time we popped round. I wanted to see the baby.”

“The fruits of her labor?” Aziraphale asked, making Crowley groan. “What? It was her labor, after all. The boy barely had anything to do with it!”

“It was such a bad pun, Aziraphale,” Crowley grumbled, somehow managing to sprawl even more dramatically on the bench. “That certainly hasn’t changed much.”

Not that much had. Everything had been fairly quiet from their respective head offices. It seemed like their ruse had truly discouraged any meddling in their affairs…at least for now. The two friends had spent the last three years enjoying every second they had together. Crowley had been somewhat clingy, for he remembered losing Aziraphale, and he didn’t want to go through that again. Aziraphale wanted to travel, having done very little of that in this current century, and Crowley was content to follow, watching the angel’s eyes light up upon tasting new foods and seeing new sights. It had been good for both of them to realize they were free, no longer bound to a “side.” They could be good, evil, or a mixture of both.

They could be, almost, human.

Crowley thought about the little tea shop he’d seen as he drove into Tadfield and the little sugar biscuits shaped like stars, with yellow icing on the top. He’d become rather a fiend for sweets, though that was mostly Aziraphale’s fault. “Tea, angel?”

But Aziraphale had stopped, his eyes closed and his hands clasped together. He was relaxed, smiling, enjoying the sunshine. Crowley shifted, sitting up just enough to get a better look at the creases in Aziraphale’s face, the way his features had rounded out further in the years since the Not-Pocalypse. When allowed to relax, he became softer still. And that was a joy for Crowley, who remained bony and lean. Not, perhaps, for his sweet tooth’s lack of trying.

“Felle?” Crowley asked quizzically. 

Aziraphale seemed to reanimate with a start. “Oh! Sorry, it’s nothing.” He smiled, but it was a bit too quick for Crowley just to write off. It was tight, and not exactly at home on Aziraphale’s kind face. “I just felt something…odd.”

“Well,” Crowley glanced around. “Hogfield Lane is just there. Could it be Adam?”

“No…” Aziraphale seemed to roll the word around on his tongue, like a perfectly interesting bite of food. “No…it isn’t Adam. I know what he feels like by now, and it’s getting less intense now that he’s older.” He frowned. “I don’t know. Something felt a bit off-balance just then.”

“Would a spot of tea fix it?” Crowley suggested. “I saw a nice little shop on our way in. Got some lovely biscuits, it looked like.”

“Ooh, I hope they’ve got something raspberry flavored.” Aziraphale said, getting up from the bench and letting Crowley do the same. Truth be told, he still felt a bit…off. Like the balance of the world had tipped slightly towards the East. But he tried not to think about it anymore, and instead enjoyed the novelty of Crowley actually wanting to eat for once.

Little did Aziraphale, or Ming-Shi’s mother, know, that the light of the world was, quite literally, the Light of the world.

Ming-Shi Ling was the Second Coming.


	2. Virtue

Anathema Pulsifer always believed that the seeds for her daughter Charity were sown the first night she and Newt had slept together. 

Her memories of the barely-avoided apocalypse were barely there, little wisps as if she’d dreamed the whole thing, but it was enough to keep her and Newt together after it had ended. 

And yes, while she knew logically that Charity had not been conceived then (especially since she’d been on birth control at the time, making the whole thing even less likely), she felt in her heart that Charity’s destiny and her existence had started right then on that night.

Her husband remained absolutely nightmarish with computers (they didn’t even keep one in the house), but Charity was scarily good with technology of all sorts. She could make just about anything come up on her tablet while only just barely touching it, and use cell phones with ease just by being nearby and thinking about them. It was the main reason why Anathema believed that Charity was a true witch’s child, born spiritually, if not literally, during the apocalypse.

Her tendency to snap her fingers whenever she performed a “miracle,” however, might be due to the influence of two other beings. Beings that she knew as “Uncle Crow” and “Uncle Zira.”

It was just after lunch. Newt was busy writing an article for “The Tadfield Tadpole,” a small local paper that allowed him to handwrite everything he sent in to them, Anathema was polishing her pendulum, and Charity was sitting under the table tapping away at her tablet, the game’s volume and Newt’s pen scratching across the paper were the only sounds. 

Presently, Anathema put down her pendulum and got up, wiping her hands absently on a nearby towel. “I’ll get it.”

“What…?” Newt began to ask, but then he didn’t need to finish his thought because there was the doorbell.

Anathema was there to open the door before the ringer had fully cut off and smiled kindly at her visitors. She could always sense them coming, now that she knew what to look out for. An angel and a demon on her front stoop. Very few people could say that happened to them on a semi-regular basis.

“Hi,” the demon, Crowley, smiled charmingly. 

“My dear Anathema!” Aziraphale took her hand gently between his. “How are you? How is the family?”

“Uncle Crow! Uncle Zira!” Charity ran past her mother, eagerly hugging first Aziraphale around the waist, then Crowley around the legs. Both of them looked a little startled, but full of fondness for the little girl, which was the biggest reason why Anathema allowed them both to be present in her child’s life. She’d explain their lack of aging later on, when Charity was a teen and started to ask questions.

“Hello, little Charity,” Aziraphale replied, the angel seeming to brighten with pleasure. “You look well.”

“I am well, thank you!” Charity replied, turning her head just enough to the side so she could be heard against Crowley’s knees. The demon chuckled and lifted her up, setting her squarely on his hip, making her giggle.

“Oof, getting heavy!” Crowley teased, bending in half like he was going to drop her. “How old are you now, Charity?”

“’M six and a half!” Charity piped up, shoving six fingers in Crowley’s face.

“My, my! Six and a half already!” Aziraphale laughed. “Well, well! Time sure does fly, doesn’t it, Crowley?”

“It sure does, angel,” Crowley replied, deftly holding onto Charity with one arm. “Ooh, I almost forgot! I brought you a little something.”

“What is it? What is it?” Charity asked excitedly, wriggling enough that Crowley had to set her down. In a flash, the demon had produced a rainbow-colored plush snake, soft enough to cuddle at night, with a kind face and scales that glistened with just a hint of glitter. Charity’s eyes grew wide, and Aziraphale’s expression grew fond.

“Do you like it?” Crowley asked in a tone that said he already knew the answer. 

“Yeah!” Charity hugged the snake to her chest. “It’s awesome! Just like you, Uncle Crow!”

“Well,” Crowley said with false modesty.

“C’mon!” Charity grabbed Crowley’s hand, dragging him into the house.

“What’s up—whoa!” Newt laughed as he was nearly barreled over by his daughter and Crowley both. “Hey, Crowley. Nice to see you again.”

“Newt.” Crowley tilted his head in greeting before Charity yanked him into the living room.

“Uncle Crow! I was watching an old Doctor Who on telly! One of the doctors looks just like you!” Came the muffled cry from the den.

“Does he, now?” Came the reply.

“Sorry about that,” Anathema explained, smiling broadly. “She likes Crowley because he listens.”

That was another special thing about Charity. She was autistic. It was hard for her to find kids to play with because communication wasn’t her best suit, and her problems with touch sensation sometimes stopped her from playing games with the other children. But Crowley, who was patient enough from listening to Aziraphale buzz at him for 6,000 and more years, was content enough to listen to all of Charity’s Doctor Who theories, and was happy to join in her little drawing games, even coloring in her books with her.

It gave Aziraphale a glance at the life they could have had together as humans. He thought Crowley would make an excellent father.

Aziraphale smiled at Newt and Anathema in the doorway, feeling the swell of their love hit him gently, like a calm breeze on a summer’s day. “It’s no trouble. Crowley’s put up with me for centuries. It’s a change of pace for him.”

As they walked inside, they heard Crowley roaring playfully, and Charity cried out playfully. ‘Back, foul beast!” She declared, brandishing a rubber sword as Crowley, on all fours, stalked her, pretending to snarl. 

Aziraphale giggled. This was a soft side of Crowley that he let few people see, the part of him that he’d hidden from hell for eons. It was…refreshing, to say the least.

“Tea?” Anathema offered.

Speaking of refreshing. “That would be lovely, thank you,” Aziraphale replied.

~

“So,” Anathema went on, stirring her tea absently with her spoon. Newt had popped out to deliver his article and fetch some groceries and it sounded as if Charity had calmed down. The two were lying on their stomachs and coloring, talking quietly to each other and occasionally giggling. “How is everything in London?”

Aziraphale sipped his tea. It was a rather delightful blueberry blend that he was becoming quite fond of. He’d have to ask Anathema where she’d found it. “Oh, perfect as usual. I’ve ordered some new first editions for the shop. Crowley keeps insisting I get a houseplant or two to keep the musty smell away, but I rather like the smell of old books myself.”

Anathema nodded. “That’s good.”

“What about here?” Aziraphale asked. “How’s Adam been?”

“Doing well, so I hear.” Anathema replied. “He’s in his final year of oceanography at university. Wants to go out and study whales.”

“Ah, yes,” Aziraphale looked confused for a moment. “And he’d be…”

“Twenty-two,” Anathema said helpfully, taking pity on the angel. “I still really don’t understand what happened that day. The more time passes, the foggier my memories are. I know Adam was…something important, but I don’t know what.”

“It’s all right, my dear,” Aziraphale replied. “That’s for us to worry about. You just worry about Charity.”

Anathema smiled in the direction of the den, watching Charity steal a crayon from Crowley and watching the demon pout so hard she gave it back. “Yeah, she’s a handful, but I love her all the same.”

“As you should, dear, as you should.” Aziraphale glanced up at the clock hanging over the sink in the cottage’s quaint kitchen. “Oh dear, look at the time. We should get going.”

Anathema made to get up, but Aziraphale stopped her. “It’s all right. Crowley?” He called.

The demon lifted his head. “Yeah, angel?”

“Time to go.” Aziraphale tapped his wrist, where there wasn’t a watch, but the gesture was clear enough. 

“Aww,” Charity pouted, turning to Crowley as the demon pulled himself to his feet with a grunt. “You’ll come visit again soon?”

“Sure, little dust mite,” Crowley said fondly, ruffling Charity’s curly hair and gleefully slide-stepped her as she swatted at him.

“Goodbye, Charity,” Aziraphale waved.

“Bye, Uncle Zira!” Charity waved back, beaming.

“I say,” Aziraphale noted to Crowley as they were leaving, “I do believe she has a favorite uncle.”

Crowley rolled his eyes, which was a very obvious gesture even when his glasses were hiding his eyes because he tended to emote with his entire body. “She just likes me cause I’m dangerous.”

“She likes you because you’re kind to her.” Aziraphale pointed out.

There would have been a time when Crowley would’ve gotten cross with him for saying that about him. But as they got into the Bentley together, Aziraphale noticed that Crowley was smiling warmly.

And that, truly, made everything worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm a sucker for paternal figures. And Crowley loving little kids is just a Thing, okay? Shh, let me have my fun.
> 
> By the way, the coveted crayon was absolutely a black glitter crayon that Crowley was using to make the My Little Pony in the coloring book into something resembling the Jersey Devil. :3


	3. Uncertainty

“So,” Crowley said conversationally as he navigated the streets out of Tadfield with a bit more care for the local speed limits than usual because, he would have insisted, of the winding roads and the way the Bentley handled corners and not, he’d like you to know, because Aziraphale had milky tea in a paper cup and was stubbornly refusing to use the provided lid, and he knew Aziraphale would be cross if he got tea stains on his jacket. “Did you get a sense of Adam at all while we were there, or should we swing by his house?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “I didn’t, but he’s out of town. What about you?”

Crowley shook his head. “I was busy playing with Charity.” The demon had always had a soft spot for children. Maybe because children could be cruel and were easy to tempt, though, more likely, it was because children were fun. Children were so full of life; inquisitive, fearless, and imaginative. And Crowley liked the imaginative. It was why so many artists had walked jauntily down to Hell.

And he liked Charity, even though going along with her chaotic whims did make him ache for a coffee. Speaking of, he lifted his cup from the cup holder and took a long drink, letting the warmth of it spread from his belly throughout him. He smacked his lips and glanced over at the angel. “We could come back after summer term’s up, check on him properly.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “No, that’s all right. I’m sure he wouldn’t like us bothering him.” He frowned.

Crowley slowed to a stop at a red light and flung his hand over the back of his seat so he could more accurately sprawl, and also get a better look at his angel. Aziraphale looked stressed, and had looked stressed these past five years, a strain that seemed to be taking a toll on him. It was enough to drive Crowley mad; he wanted to know what was making his angel so miserable. I mean, he had an idea, but it was a vague idea, and was only labelled as “that incident five years ago” in his mind.

“Have you tried asking Anathema about the prophesies?” Crowley asked, sliding his eyes back towards the road as the light turned green.

Aziraphale shook his head with only a slight amount of misery. “Wouldn’t do any good. She burned the further prophesies after the Not-an-Apocalypse ages ago.”

Crowley slammed his foot down hard on the break, screeching the Bentley to a halt and making the driver behind him slam both hands down on his horn, then passing Crowley, shouting curses at him. The short stop had also caused Aziraphale’s tea to slosh dangerously close to the lip of the cup, making the angel gasp and then tut at Crowley.

“She what?!” Crowley took his glasses off so that the full effect of his incredulity would be visible. “You can’t be serious!”

“Angels can’t lie, Crowley, and I am still that, if barely.”

Crowley growled and smashed his forehead into the steering wheel before starting up the Bentley and driving off at a quicker speed than before, miracling away potholes because, obviously, it would ruin his suspension and not because Aziraphale would surely spill his tea at this speed. And that would be a shame. “Why would she do that?! Her descendant hands her a copy of The Ineffable Plan and she destroys it?!”

“Well, wouldn’t you rather a few surprises in life?” Aziraphale asked, not fazed by Crowley’s driving for once. “I dare say even you wouldn’t argue with a witch’s child.”

“…Point taken,” Crowley begrudgingly admitted, scrubbing a hand over his face. “But what will we do now, angel? Wait for the end of the world again?”

“Nonsense!” Aziraphale finished his tea, filled with new resolve. “We just have to find out exactly what it is, and where it is.”

Crowley rolled his shoulders and settled in. “Where to, then, old friend?”

“The bookshop, by way of that new teashop down the road.” Aziraphale replied brightly. “I do believe that on Tuesdays, they stock those lemon bars that you like.”

Crowley grinned, and revved the engine just to make the angel jump.

He wouldn’t say no to an afternoon filled with lemon squares and sunbathing. That was Heaven for him. Well, not nearly that. But better.

Loads better.


	4. Feng

Meanwhile, in the Sichuan Province in China, little Ming-Shi was growing like a weed. 

Her mother, Ai Ling, lived on a country estate with her parents, enjoying the traditional life and generally doing things in traditional ways. Ming-Shi had learned by now to beat seeds out of wheat with a stick, peel silkworms from their cocoons, and pick shitake mushrooms off trees in the mountains. And those were just the simple tasks that a young child could be expected to perform in olden times. Just from watching her mother, she was learning how to cook and clean, to repair bamboo structures around her home, to shear sheep and look after dogs.

Three years ago when she was two, Ming-Shi’s mother had plopped her down on the back of a cow and told her to hold on tight while she led the cow down to the rice patties at the base of the estate. She was then told to sit in the grass and work on a simple weaving pattern while her mother plowed.

Ming-Shi nodded, and pushed her bangs out of her face, the hair on the back of her neck tickling her cheeks as her tiny, chubby fingers worked as best as they could to make the braids in her grandmother’s shawl tighter.

Everything was quiet except for Aii’s commands and the cow lowing. The wind whipped around Ming-Shi’s head as she worked, a warmer breeze than could be expected from the colder mountain weather, but Ming-Shi, obedient, did not look up from her work. 

That is, until she heard a distressed sound coming from the fall grass behind her.

Like any toddler, Ming-Shi was curious, and also unaware of the dangers of the world around her. Of course, no danger could befall the Daughter of God, for no man or beast would ever even think of harming her. Perhaps it was that innate knowledge that made Ming-Shi get to her feet, leaving her grandmother's shawl behind.

The little girl toddled into the tall grass, her hands gently pushing the waving grasses aside. They were far taller than she was, and the sound of the tips of the grasses swaying together sounded like the swell of the sea or the hiss of a serpent. But the sounds of distress were getting closer, and Ming-Shi just had to see what was going on. The cries, she knew, were coming from a bird, and not just any bird.

The Antichrist had been gifted his dog on his eleventh birthday. And the dog, of course, was not really any kind of proper dog at all (at least, not then), but a Hellhound, a beast worthy of fear. But Heaven’s companion animals were of a different variety altogether. Heaven had their Rocs, who, back in the days of old, had been large eagles the size of large stars. These Rocs pulled heavenly chariots and flew prophets to Jerusalem. Nowadays, they sat in a kind of celestial aviary, awaiting the time to be useful again.

This particular Roc, a young male, had been chosen because of his gentleness and intelligence. And since Ming-Shi was too young to think up any kind of sensible bird for a disguise (she would have probably imagined some combination of a dragon and a dinosaur), the young Roc came to her in the form of a raven.

Ming-Shi parted the grass in front of her and found an injured black bird, a juvenile raven, thrashing about in the grass with a broken wing. It had made a matted-down next of grass in the clearing, and was squawking desperately, looking for its family. Wild but intelligent eyes settled on the girl, and it seemed as if, for a moment, time had stopped. 

The young Daughter of God stepped into the clearing. The bird made quieter signs of distress as she got near, but she was not afraid of him. Somehow she knew that out of all the animals she had met so far in her life in China’s beautiful, lush countryside, that this bird, this young raven with the broken wing, was hers.

Ming-Shi knelt beside the bird, gently petting the animal from head to tail. The raven nuzzled into her hand, and, just for a moment, the little girl saw a celestial glow around the tips of the bird’s dark feathers. She thought: Feng. Phoenix. Even though she could not speak it allowed, being barely able to talk, the bird responded to his name, getting to his feet with effort and bowing its head to her. Feng remained still until Ming-Shi reached out her hand for him. Even a juvenile raven is a large bird, but Ming-Shi found she could hold him as easily as she might hold a sparrow. Her clever eyes found the wound in his wing and she reached up to brush her fingers against it.

It was a clumsy miracle at first, only serving to repair some of the bones. But then, when she tried again, the miracle worked all the way, and her Roc was back in top form.

Just as that was settled, the grasses above her head, which had stilled when she and Feng locked eyes, began to sway and hiss again, and Ming-Shi could hear her mother anxiously calling for her. She called out: “Here!” and slowly trekked back to her mother.

Imagine Ai’s surprise when her daughter reappeared not only unharmed (thankfully), but carrying a raven, resting quietly on her arm. Ming-Shi’s dark eyes met her mother’s, and Ai looked into those dark, yet somehow bright, centers, and decided that her daughter must have the bird.

Feng followed his mistress back to her home, and submitted to having a bell tied to his feet. The Ling family had kept birds before, but the aviary now was quiet and empty, save for one bird.

For the next month or so, Ai would leave the raven in the aviary, only to check in on her daughter in the morning to find the bird sitting on the head of her bed. Eventually, she decided that it wasn’t worth fighting fate, and so Feng was allowed to stay with Ming-Shi. 

For the next three years, Feng would follow Ming-Shi faithfully wherever she went, helping her if he could and keeping her out of trouble. Now that Heaven had gifted her a Roc, there were less than savory parties now trying to harm her. For now, it was only little snakes and spiders that Feng could catch and eat, but he knew it wouldn’t be that way for long. And so did Ming-Shi, in her own way.

By the time she was five years old, she was terrified of snakes, and nothing anyone said or did could help her overcome that fear.

“It’s almost as if it’s written on her bones,” her grandmother said to Ai one night as she was tucking Ming-Shi in.

Ai looked at her daughter and then at her mother. “You know, mama,” she said, “I do believe it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to try to use Goggle translate for the Chinese dialogue, because I never studied Chinese and Google translate isn't...great.
> 
> Also, I meant to use the Asian name convention (Last Name/First Name), but I forgot to do it in the first chapter I mentioned her. I'll probably go back and fix it at some point, because I feel like that's pretty offensive.
> 
> Also-also, I took a LOT of inspiration from Li Zhi Qi's channel on YouTube, and my knowledge of children being assigned easy, low-skill tasks in the colonial period, so uh...yeah.


	5. Eastward

“That’s it!” Aziraphale declared, jumping out of his chair ecstatically.

Crowley, who had been soaking up the last rays of the sun, sprawled out on the sofa like a cat, and had also been so deeply asleep that he’d been snoring (well, what counted as a snore for him, which was something between a hiss and a low growl), sat up, startled. “What’s it?” He grumbled, scratching the side of his head with his sharpest fingernails and blinking at the angel who was currently running his forefinger over the spines of some nearby books lined up on a shelf and yawning cavernously, his jaw probably stretching a bit too wide to be entirely human, but that was besides the point.

“Three years ago! China!” Aziraphale exclaimed as if that would instantly clear up everything. “Ah!” Having found the book he was looking for, he plucked it neatly off the shelf with practiced hands, carrying it over to his desk and setting it down with a soft whump. A cloud of dust escaped the edges of the book as he opened it with care and precision, flicking through to what he wanted.

Crowley, resigned to the fact that he’d probably not get to finish his nap, sighed and got up to look over the angel’s shoulder. Aziraphale had the book (maybe an atlas, or something else about geography) open to a map of China, his finger trailing across the little lines indicating roads and rivers scribbled in across the map until his finger hovered over a large area of the map in the center of the country.

“There!” Aziraphale emphasized, tapping his finger over the location. “I knew I felt something there years ago. I just couldn’t put my finger on what it was.”

Crowley peered over his sunglasses at the area of the map Aziraphale was excitedly buzzing about. “’The Sichuan Province’,” he read, frowning. “Why does that feel familiar…?”

“I told you!” Aziraphale declared excitedly. “Three years ago! China! Sichuan Province!”

‘Oh,” Crowley said. Now that he mentioned it, the demon did recall a time three years ago when Aziraphale had whispered to him that something was going on in China, but of course, he’d brushed it off, because, really, with the state of America at this current moment, well, he was expecting things to go fantastically pear-shaped within a decade. “I should’ve listened to you. We should’ve gotten on a plane right then.”

Aziraphale placed a comforting and warm hand on Crowley’s shoulder, knowing that the demon was being as contrite as the nature of his being allowed him to be. “It’s okay, dear. You didn’t know. I didn’t really know, either.”

“So, do you know now?” Crowley asked, turning from the book to look at Aziraphale, resting against the desk as he crossed one leg over the other.

“I’m not entirely sure,” Aziraphale replied thoughtfully, his eyes rolling heavenward as his brow furrowed in concentration, a finger tapping against his lips subconsciously. “I have a suspicion that it has to do with the Second Coming.”

Crowley’s jaw could have dropped to the floor, if demons were given to being that comedic. “No…not…The Second Coming…?”

“The very same,” Aziraphale nodded. “We might be dealing with the end of the world again.”

Presently, the phone in the bookshop began to ring. Aziraphale huffed, moving exactly to where Crowley stood, and pulling the phone out from around him. In compromise, Crowley slithered around to Aziraphale’s other shoulder, leaning close so he could eavesdrop. Aziraphale gave him a Look, but gave up with a sigh when Crowley remained immobile and smirking, and picked up the phone. “Hello, A.Z. Fell Bookshop,” he said with his usual cheery tone.

“Hey, Aziraphale, it’s Adam,” came a voice that still sounded vaguely familiar despite having gotten deeper in pitch since the last time they’d spoken to him, all those years ago. “We need to talk about Jesus.”

“R…right,” Aziraphale said. “It seems I’ve pinpointed his location, and…”

Crowley was suddenly struck with a burst of not-quite-divine inspiration. Without thinking, he snapped his fingers, miracling the phone into his own hand. He held it cradled against his face. “Adam,” he said seriously. “It’s not a “he.” Not this time.”

“What?” Adam asked, sounding confused.

“The Second Coming of Christ.” Crowley was looking at Aziraphale, too, gauging his reaction. Aziraphale looked somewhere between stunned and impressed, and Crowley couldn’t help feeling a rush of pride because of it. “It’s not a little boy. It’s a little girl.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUN DUN!!!
> 
> I might end up taking "the Them" out of the tags, as it might be too many characters for me to miraculously get together for the events to come.
> 
> I feel like this is all going really fast and might have actually been better distributed as three parts instead of multiple chapters, but...oh well.
> 
> You can't judge my fanfic too harshly. After all, I basically just spit it out and post it, so.


	6. Phonecall

“So, what’s the plan, then?” Adam asked.

Crowley had miracled the phone call into his cell phone and put it on speaker. The demon in question was reclining against the sofa, still warm from the lingering heat on the setting sun, while Aziraphale sat in an armchair he’d pulled close to the table where Crowley had set his phone. Aziraphale had already filled Adam in on everything he knew so far. Which was very little, but, after all, they’d averted the Apocalypse with much less.

The Daughter of God was a little Chinese girl of five years old, living in the Sichuan Province in China. She’d be easy to spot, though her appearance would likely be unremarkable; not hidden, as the Antichrist had been. The qualities of the Son would be likely present in her already; wisdom beyond her years, intellectual quiet, and overabundant kindness to all things great and small. “And I can’t be certain,” Aziraphale said, “for it’s been a long time since I’ve been allowed to know about Heaven’s policies, but she probably has with her Heaven’s answer to the Hellhound, a Roc.”

The ethereal and occult being were silent for a long time. 

“Hello?” Adam asked finally. “Still there?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale answered. “It’s just that the question you asked, well…”

“I bet,” Crowley interrupted, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, “that Hell wants rid of her. And they’ll want to do it before she grows up and matures into her full power.”

“Wouldn’t Heaven come do something about that?” Adam asked. “I mean…she’s the Daughter of God! Why wouldn’t…?”

“Heaven’s not, um,” Aziraphale piped up, thinking of Jesus’ crucifixion, “Heaven doesn’t necessarily have the best track record with caring for their children, God’s or otherwise.”

“Something my lot actually got right,” Crowley muttered, barely audible. “We send a great Hellhound to protect the Antichrist, you lot send a bird.”

Aziraphale glared at him briefly. Then, he went on: “It doesn’t really…feel like the Second Coming. It’s almost like this was all an accident.”

“Well, there were prophesies, right?” Adam asked. “The last time this all happened with me? What do they say?”

“We don’t know.” Crowley seethed. “Someone burned the book.”

“What?” Adam groaned. “All right, fine. Crowley, when d’ya think the hoards with descend upon her, or whatever?”

Crowley scrunched up his face in thought. “Probably not until they have a better signal to track,” he decided. “She’d be pretty obvious to humans, but invisible to demons. I had a devil of a time finding Christ until he wandered into my desert.”

“Cool,” Adam replied, sighing in relief. “I’m finishing my last exams this week. I’ll be home by Friday. Have you told Anathema yet?”

“No.” Crowley replied.

Aziraphale slapped his knee. “Of course! That wouldn’t be a bad idea! Thank you, Adam.”

“Don’t mention it,” Adam replied. “I don’t have full power like I used to all those years ago, but I’ll do what I can to keep things normal until I get home. At least I’ll be able to tell you if the demons are on the move early.” He hesitated. “Wait…this wasn’t the number I called!”

“It’s my cell,” Crowley replied, picking up his phone. “Save the number. We’ll see you Friday. Ciao.” He hung up, looking at Aziraphale. “You think this wasn’t planned?”

The angel fidgeted in his chair. “Well, I hesitate to say anything is really “unplanned” because it must be in God’s Plan somewhere…the Ineffable One, I mean. But I can’t shake the feeling that Heaven may not have known about this.”

“Right,” Crowley murmured, catching on. “Kinda like with the Antichrist, he was supposed to be the son of an American diplomat. Heaven must’ve planned the Second Coming’s placement, too.”

“That’s why I feel it’s a bit odd,” Aziraphale went on. “I mean, China is very nice, but the rural area that she’s in…sure, it has a lot of poverty and all that, but. I mean, Christ’s First Coming was downright political! Rural China isn’t exactly the obvious placement.”

Crowley nodded. “Always thought the Second Coming would end up in America. Jesus Junior would probably get a kick out of showing all those neo-Nazis over there spouting Bible verses about how queer people need to die, or whatever it is, who they’re really shouting slurs at.”

“Hm, yes, quite,” Aziraphale replied thoughtfully. 

Silence. The roar of a car engine sounded outside the bookshop, making them jump.

“Well,” Crowley stretched, groaning as his bones popped back into place, “should we go tell Anathema?”

“I think it can wait, dear,” Aziraphale replied, stretching. “I believe a table for two at the Ritz has just come free.”

Crowley grinned. “You sentimental old angel, you.”  
They had begun and ended the last Apocalypse at the Ritz, and now another was starting, marked by little finger sandwiches and tea at the very same restaurant.

How quaint fate could be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, short chapters are just gonna get us closer to the end, okay? Hush.
> 
> Good stuff's comin soon.


	7. Preparations

While an angel and a demon were drinking wine and eating tea sandwiches and petit-fours, miles away in rural China, Ming-Shi could feel the world begin to shift.

Ever since she’d turned five, things felt different. She was beginning to see so much more, and her desire to help and be of use was growing stronger. She eagerly offered to help her mother, Ai, more than she probably needed to, and was only ever at play in the hours before dinner, because she was still much too young to cook. She didn’t have any siblings, but she looked after the dogs and the ducks and the lamb as well as she could, and when her mother took her to other farms to visit or to buy and sell items, she always made friends with the other children.

She was quiet and mature, and held a captivating presence. Her raven, Feng, who was always with her, helped out with that image quite a bit. During the New Year, Ming-Shi had tied red and gold ribbon next to Feng’s bell, and the tradition had stuck. Whenever she found scraps of yarn or ribbon, she would tie them to her raven’s feet, letting Feng leave trails of color behind him in the sky.

She still, however, found herself nervous whenever she was walking with her mother through the undergrowth of the mountains, always sending Feng out to hunt serpents. She wasn’t quite sure why she was so afraid of snakes, only that she knew that one day, a snake would try to hurt her, and so she must be careful, because it was not her time yet.

On that particular day, Ming-Shi rose with the sun and took Feng from his post above her bed. She brushed her teeth and washed her face with the help of a wooden stepstool, then changed into her clothes, running a brush through her silky black locks. She liked to wear her hair down, even though her mother would scold her, saying it would get in the way of her work. It never did, though. Feng sat on her dresser, his head tilting to and fro, watching her. Ming-Shi noticed that the pink ribbons she’d given him were tattered and dirty. 

“Come here, Feng,” she said, running over to her desk and rooting in one of the drawers. Feng flapped across the room and landed on the edge of her desk. Ming-Shi produced a pair of scissors and four thin ribbons, two in black and two in white. She looked at the colors side by side for a moment and smiled. Very soon, she could make new friends who were marked by these very colors. 

She lay out the ribbons and snipped off the frayed ends on the black ribbon, then arranged them so that they were lined up black to white before presenting her non-dominant hand to Feng. “Foot, please,” she said. Feng gave her his foot, setting his claw gently on her closed fist. Ming-Shi looped the ribbon around his leg, then removed her other hand to tie it together in a little bow. The two colors mingled nicely together, working in harmony. She smiled, then ran out to the door. “Come on, Feng!”

Feng let out a sound that almost resembled a human chuckle and followed after her, gliding through the hall until he could land on the floor, walking his way over to his mistress, who was busy tying her shoes. Ming-Shi hopped up and grabbed her jacket, for even in the warmer months, the rural areas could be buffeted by wind, especially when surrounded by the mountains on all sides, like her little home was.

The little girl held the door open for Feng and called the dogs to her as she gathered up grain in a basket to feed to the chickens and the ducks. She went to each enclosure, standing on tiptoes to throw the grain inside, Feng sitting on the fence and watching her with bright eyes. She dropped a bit of grain for him, and then opened the gate to where the ducks were. Today, it was important to collect as many eggs as she could. There was going to be a feast, after all. Despite the fact that the ducks were watching her take their eggs, they didn’t move to stop her, as if they were aware of the divine plan that was moving slowly to allow this to happen exactly the way it needed to.

Next, Ming-Shi did the same with the chickens, drawing them out of their coop so she could crawl in and grab the eggs. A few hens were still sitting on their nests, but they let her take the eggs without scratching her with their beaks or squawking in discomfort when her clever little hands reached in to take the eggs. Finding a few that were broken, Ming-Shi offered these to the dogs, squinting up into the sky to watch Feng circle the farm. He probably knew what was coming, too. Maybe even better than she did.

She came back from seeing the birds to find her mother drinking tea and nibbling on a moon cake left over from the spring festivities. 

“Hello, Ming-Shi!” Her mother greeted. “You’re up early!”

“Yes, mama!” Ming-Shi replied, gently setting the basket filled with eggs (miraculously more than she had physically found) on the table before climbing onto the bench across from Ai and grabbing a teacup of her own, drinking deeply. Feng dropped down beside her, picking at the crumbs on the table. “We need to prepare for a feast!”

“A feast?” Ai asked, frowning. “My dear, there aren’t any holidays coming up, and there are no birthdays in the family. We don’t need to prepare a feast!”

“Yes we do, mama,” Ming-Shi insisted, reaching for a cup of soup. “I have friends coming soon, and they will be hungry.”

“Friends?” Ai didn’t know what her daughter was talking about, but she remembered the resolve in her daughter’s eyes. It was the same one the day that the little girl had found Feng. And Ai knew she couldn’t deny her daughter this request, even if it was a bit strange. “All right. How long until they get here, do you think?”

“In a week or so,” Ming-Shi replied brightly. She smiled at her mother, her dark eyes seeming to shine with something ethereal. Feng was still, his wings shifting around a white fire burning at their tips. “Don’t worry, mama. They’re very nice, and they’re not going to hurt us.”

Ai blinked, as if in a daze, and then finished her tea, grabbing the basket. “Well,” she grinned, “if it’s a feast your friends want, then we’ll give them one!”

Ming-Shi giggled, clapping her hands together. Feng jumped, hopping onto the bench. “Yay! Thank you, mama!”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Ai said mischievously. “I’m going to need plenty of ingredients. Will you go get me some herbs from the garden, and then when you get back, take the melon-picker and get me some ripe melons.”

“Yes, mama!” Ming-Shi replied, racing off to do just that, the dogs and Feng trailing behind her.

Ai shook her head, walking into the kitchen with the basket full of eggs. That was strange. She’d seen the duck nests yesterday, and she could’ve sworn there weren’t this many eggs…

Something told her not to question her bounty, and so she didn’t, instead setting to work making delicious duck yolk powder, a perfect hearty seasoning for all sorts of dishes.

Ming-Shi sat back from picking sage in the garden, turning her head towards the sea where miles away, her new friends were waiting for her. She smiled, hoping they’d be everything she’d imagined they would be.

The two men marked by black and white. Angel and demon, side by side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been watching Li Zi Qi videos, thinking about a meal plan for this victory feast. Because duh, that's important.


	8. Planning

“Do we really have to do this, Aziraphale?” Crowley complained, stalking around his plant room inspecting the leaves.

“It is customary for humans to gather together to discuss things over a meal,” Aziraphale replied from the next room over, currently trying to miracle a good dining table into existence.

“Yeah, I know that,” Crowley flopped dramatically against the doorway. “Why does it have to be in my flat?”

“Because your flat is larger than the bookshop,” Aziraphale replied primly. “And we can’t very well invite ourselves to the Youngs or the Pulsifers, now could we?”

Crowley grumbled to himself, but Aziraphale did have a point. It would be rude to invite yourself to dinner, and his flat was much more spacious, and in an easier part of London to get to. Just because it was practical, though, didn’t mean he had to like it.

It was nearing six o’clock on Saturday evening. Crowley had sent out a text yesterday, at Aziraphale’s dictation, inviting Anathema, Newt, and Adam around to his flat for dinner and to discuss some things. Everyone was supposed to start arriving by six-thirty, and he wanted to make sure his plants were perfectly groomed by then. 

Having found no imperfect leaves, and with a warning glare that left them trembling, Crowley returned to the main room. Aziraphale had shoved his desk back a few feet and miracled a sleek black rectangular dining table into existence. Eight dining chairs with elegantly carved handles and red velvet plush seats and backing were in place, and the table was complimented by a red and black table runner that seemed to have a similar pattern to that of Crowley’s serpentine form. The centerpiece for the table was a bouquet of calla lilies, a favorite of the demon’s. Crowley made an impressed noise, half sitting on his desk. 

“Not bad, Aziraphale, not bad,” he mused. “You’ve managed to match it perfectly to my tastes.”

“I’ve also spruced up your kitchen a bit,” Aziraphale went on. “Made it seem a bit more human.” He’d given it an oven and filled the fridge with more than just ice lollies and frozen margaritas. The ruse almost wouldn’t be necessary, except Newt and Anathema were almost certainly bringing Charity along with them, and she wasn’t in on the secret yet. “And I added a few more chairs and a carpet to your living room,” Aziraphale added. Crowley pushed himself off the desk and walked around past the kitchen area. Three additional lounge chairs now sat in the living room in addition to the long modern-style couch sitting across from the fireplace. Stretched across the living area was a rug that looked like an orange tiger, mouth open and everything. He also noted there was a game cabinet, probably to keep Charity entertained, with a Cluedo box and a worn Scrabble box, as well as a deck of cards.

Crowley sniffed and wandered back into the dining room. Aziraphale had miracled a pot of creamy lemon chicken with asparagus into existence, along with warm, soft garlic bread, and a perfect Chardonnay from 1980 in a bottle waiting to be opened. Aziraphale snapped his fingers and seven place settings appeared, along with a plate of assorted petit-fours in the kitchen, cool and ready to serve for dessert. 

Crowley sighed. Aziraphale was a bad influence on him, as he was starting to enjoy the physical pleasures of Earth far more than he’d done in his 6000 years plus of life. Sometimes he wondered if food was too much for his corporeal body to handle, as sometimes, his stomach would feel rather tight after dinner. Though Aziraphale had assured him that one couldn’t discorporate from being full, Crowley did try to avoid it when he could. (Sometimes, though, he’d admit that he’d just get lost in the sensations of eating…but that could be forgiven, especially because Aziraphale seemed to rather enjoy seeing him enjoy himself.)

Aziraphale finished his miracles just in time, for the doorbell rang. Crowley didn’t need to be told to answer it, and so went to the door and opened it, smiling warmly in greeting. “Hi there.”

Anathema embraced him warmly. She was dressed in a short teal blue dress with dark stockings, bracelets jingling on her arms. Her makeup, Crowley observed, was done up to match her dress. “Hello, Crowley. It’s good to see you again.”

“And you,” Crowley stepped aside, letting Anathema and Charity in. Charity was dressed in a white taffeta gown with black polka dots on it like a Dalmatian. She was, Crowley noted with some pride, carrying the plush snake he’d given her. “Hi, Charity,” he waved at her.

Charity looked up, smiling. She waved back, but seemed a bit shy of being in his apartment. Well, there was a reason many birds didn’t exactly like it here after all, he supposed, though Aziraphale being here should’ve canceled out most of his naturally occurring demonic aura. He knelt to her level, offering her a hug, which she took, and then lifted her up, making her squeal with laughter. “Where’s Newt?”

“Oh, he caught Adam while he was parking the car,” Anathema explained. “I think they’ll be up soon. Dog looks different now, I should warm you.”

Aziraphale snapped his fingers and a silver food dish with spots for both kibble and water appeared, filled already for Dog. 

“We’re going to see Dog?” Charity asked excitedly. Her curly hair was pinned up in two high ponytails, and they hit Crowley in the face as she turned towards her mom, making him sputter. 

“As long as he doesn’t pee on my floor,” Crowley said, setting Charity down. “Go say hi to Uncle Zira. There’s a love.” He crossed to the table, uncapping the wine and pouring some in Anathema’s glass, listening to Charity chattering to Aziraphale and smiling to himself. When the doorbell rang again, he went to answer it, seeing Newt, dressed in a black suit with a plaid tie that matched his wife’s dress, and Adam, looking very much like a teen trying his best to be dressy; his jacket and trousers were both tan, but they didn’t match each other, and he had black shoes on, when everyone knows you wear brown shoes with a tan suit. Dog, in the form of a small white Maltese, wagged his fluffy tail in greeting.

“Well,” Crowley said, “that’s one way to transform a Hellhound.”

“Oh,” Adam looked down at his feet and bent to lift up Dog in his arms. “Yeah, Dog’s old body wasn’t doing so well, and I wanted to keep him in my dorm, so he had to be within the weight and size limit.” Dog barked at Crowley in greeting, though it sounded more like a yap than anything that should be reasonably coming out of a Hellhound’s throat. Crowley leaned forward to scratch Dog behind the ears, then let the two men in.

“How’s school, Adam?” Crowley wasn’t the best at small talk, but he figured he’d try for Aziraphale, who would be devastated if everyone didn’t have a good time. 

~

They couldn’t start with the bad news, of course. Aziraphale knew that bad news ruined appetites, and he did not want his miracled chicken and bread to go to waste. It was modeled after a dish he’d seen on the cooking channel the last time he’d been to Crowley’s place, and it smelled absolutely heavenly. He was sitting next to Crowley, who had the spot at the head of the table, naturally. Adam had taken the other spot on the end of the table so he could feed scraps to Dog, and Charity was on Crowley’s other side, Newt and Anathema sitting across from each other. 

They passed around the bread and then the chicken. Aziraphale noted that Crowley served himself last, and he was impressed at the demon’s social skills. Crowley was dignified and gentlemanly, sure, but he’d rarely seen the demon play host so well.

They ate and caught up with each other. Adam talked about his oceanography courses at length and Anathema asked questions about what conservation work looked like in the field. Charity buzzed to Crowley about that week’s Doctor Who episode and Aziraphale and Newt discussed publishing and books. It was like getting together for a big family dinner, and the angel enjoyed the aura of that immensely.

Dinner plates were cleared, replaced by tiny desert plates. Aziraphale noticed that Crowley had only eaten just enough food to look human, but didn’t want to press him about it. After all, the demon could choose not to eat if he wanted to. Aziraphale was happy enough that Crowley had kept up the human façade; that was all he could ask for. The angel cleared the plates and the demon followed him, promising to return with coffee for dessert. Soon enough, the two, working in perfect tandem as always, returned with a pot of coffee, mugs, and the petit-fours. The excited chatter turned into a more relaxed hum of conversation; full stomachs in humans did tend to have this effect. 

Crowley, to keep up appearances, slouched slightly, wine glass in hand, one leg crossed over the other, lazily observing the conversation. Charity was eating her petit-fours, busy lining up little figures of the TARDIS and little figures of The Doctor and what appeared to be the Ponds and the Daleks (only known by Crowley at all because of Charity) next to her plate. He was content, well on his way to pleasantly buzzed, his cold blood warmed by the food he’d ingested. (Only enough to be polite; he much preferred wine to make his belly warm after all. Besides, after dining with Aziraphale earlier in the week, he was satiated.)

Only when Charity excused herself to go watch TV in the next room (“Doctor Who reruns are on tonight! Can I watch, mum? Can I?”) did the conversation shift to the serious topic at hand. Adam straightened up in his chair, Dog happily asleep curled up in his lap. “So, we need to talk.”

Anathema and Newt looked at Adam, then at each other, and then at Crowley and Aziraphale.

“Yes, Christ’s Second Coming is upon us, it would seem.” Aziraphale began.

Crowley drained his wine and reached for the bottle to pour another glass. “Heaven’s answer to the Antichrist,” he nodded at Adam, “Jesus Christ Junior.”

“Wha—?” Newt trailed off.

“Okay,” Anathema said primly, looking Crowley dead in the eyes. “Where?”

“China.” Crowley said.

“Sichuan Province, to be exact,” Aziraphale piped up. “An area of rural China that’s mostly for farmland.”

“We think this was an accident of some sort,” Crowley said, swirling the wind in his glass absently before taking a sip. “As much as an “accident” can occur in The Ineffable Plan, anyway.”

“It’s an unlikely location, is all,” Aziraphale explained, sipping his coffee, which was mostly milk and sugar. “There are other places that need Her attention. It seems like, if this was indeed the way it was meant to be, that Heaven is trying to hide her.”

“We could find out for sure if you hadn’t burned the book,” Adam grumbled.

“Hey!” Newt leaped to Anathema’s defense. Literally. He leapt out of his chair. “I support her in that decision! Would you want to be at the hands of pre-determined fate all your life, memorizing prophesies instead of letting life happen?!”

“Newt,” Anathema said calmly, “it’s okay.”

Newt sat down again, still fuming.

“The prophesies aren’t important,” Crowley went on. “What is important is that a hoard of demons will, undoubtedly, be sent to her location as soon as they can find her.” He set his empty glass on the table after draining it once again. “She’s well hidden from them now, but once occult or ethereal forces begin to intertwine with her location, she’ll be done for. They want to attack her while she’s young and not at full power.”

“Does she know that?” Newt asked.

Crowley looked at Adam, whose otherworldly eyes told him all he needed to know. “Yes. She probably knows we’re coming too.”

“We?’ Anathema asked.

“Crowley and I,” Aziraphale replied. “We need to make sure she’s as safe as she can be.”

“But why not just stay away, if they’re only going to come for her when you find her?” Adam asked.

Aziraphale shrugged. “I think it’s part of the plan.”

“Well, we’re coming, too,” Anathema stood up, pounding her fist on the table. “Maybe I can help locate her with my pendulum and my star maps.”

“With Charity…?” Newt asked, but he knew he was overruled. 

“I’ll come, too,” Adam smiled. “I know what it’s like to be young and come into a lot of power all at once. Maybe we can keep her from tearing the world apart.”

“Do you think she could?” Aziraphale asked Crowley under his breath. The demon shook his head and cleared his throat.

“It’s settled, then. I’ll miracle us some tickets to China, first flight I can get.”

“I’ll help,” Adam said. “I can’t do that much anymore, but securing tickets I think I can handle. Gimme your phone.” 

Crowley slid it across the table and Adam tapped away on it for a few minutes before sliding it back. “Done. First flight to China is in a couple days. Really early, though.”

“4AM?!” Newt cried.

“Right,” Anathema smiled. “Thank you for the lovely dinner, you two. We’ll see you on Monday at the airport.” She looked back at Adam. “Need a ride to your car?”

“That’d be great, thanks,” Adam got up.

“Charity!” Newt called. “We’re going now! Come say goodbye!”

Charity ran back into the room, tackling first Aziraphale and then Crowley in hugs. Crowley gathered up her Doctor Who figures, miracling them good as new, as the paint on them had faded with play. “Here you go, Charity.”

“Thanks, Uncle Crowley!” Charity said, waving. “Bye!”

Soon enough, angel and demon were alone. Crowley wilted in his chair. “Ugh. I hate socializing,” he groused, yawning. “I’m exhausted enough to sleep straight through til Monday.”

“Well, you’re free to,” Aziraphale said, smirking, “but then I’d miss you.”

Crowley smiled back, tilting his wine glass, miraculously full again, towards the angel. “Better not, then.”

Aziraphale’s responding grin was brighter than any sunlight, and even in sunglasses, Crowley was blinded by it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw a woman carrying a tiny Maltese the other day as I was leaving work, and I couldn't get the image of Adam having one out of my head, so. You're welcome.


	9. Flying

Airports were one of Crowley’s favorite places. Mostly because humans tended to despise them. Now, Crowley had not exactly invented airports, but he had a hand in all the annoying little ways in which they operated. If he’d been at all interested in feeding on negative feelings (he wasn’t; he felt as though Aziraphale might disapprove…unless it was absolutely necessary to his corporation, that is), all he had to do was come to an airport for an hour and he’d be stuffed for years.

As it is, though, he was just as irritated being involved in the process of flying as any other human in this God-forsaken landscape of colorless walls and meaningless shops where everyone working there was just as lifeless as the drained commuters and vacationing families traipsing through this Hellish space.

Well, at least Charity seemed to be having fun. Riding on Newt’s shoulders, she was watching the world go by in awe. Lucky she wasn’t too sensitive to sound, thought Crowley. But he miracled a little sound bubble (about as good as your standard pair of noise-dampening headphones) for her just in case. He was carrying both of their bags, which weren’t filled with very much. At least his wasn’t, just little leftover bits and bobs the others couldn’t shove into theirs, mostly. Aziraphale had extra shoes and a few changes of clothes because he insisted on buying all of his clothes instead of miracling them into existence like Crowley did. Though, he was thankful Aziraphale remembered bug spray. Mosquitos, an invention of Hell’s, were common in the rural area where they’d be going, just as they were anywhere during the warmer months.

The bags were digging uncomfortably into Crowley’s shoulder by the time they were on line at TSA. Adam had Dog in a Service Dog vest, and Dog was behaving as such. Ah, so that was how he was going to get Dog onto the plane, Crowley thought. Frankly, their little party looked like Death, except for Charity and Aziraphale, both more youthful than the rest of them. 

It was thirteen hours total. They were stopping off in Frankfurt in Germany. Aziraphale was talking about trying the sausage. At least Adam had found them a flight right to Chengdu, which was only about an hour from where Aziraphale suspected the Daughter of God might be located. Aziraphale spoke Chinese, having learned it ages ago alongside Japanese and Korean (he found the distinct characters interesting, just as he had a fondness for Ancient Greek and Hebrew), so they’d have no trouble at all getting around. Still, they were getting a guide for the mountains, if only so they wouldn’t get lost traversing the rural countryside.

Crowley shuddered. He was a city dweller through and through, and had never particularly liked an obnoxious amount of nature. God was playing a cruel joke on him, it seemed. 

TSA was normal, and then there was the business of passports. Crowley and Aziraphale had miracled their own (he was amused to note that Aziraphale had listed his last name as “DeAngelo”), and Adam had probably created ones for himself and Dog. Anathema had one, of course, and Newt and Charity probably did, too, for seeing Anathema’s family in America. Through some divine or demonic intervention, things went smoothly, and soon, the plane was taking off. Obviously, Aziraphale and Crowley were sat next to each other, Anathema and Adam (plus Dog), and Newt and Charity behind them. It seemed as though many people on the flight were settling in to sleep, including their human companions. Aziraphale patted Crowley’s hand with his own.

“Might as well sleep, dear. We’ve got a long flight ahead of us.”

Crowley yawned. “If only to pass the time.” He rubbed his eyes sleepily. “You won’t be bored?” Aziraphale didn’t like sleeping; Heaven knew why.

Aziraphale shook his head, producing a travel-sized copy of The Odyssey. “I’ll be just fine. I’ll have the flight attendant get me a tea. Did you want a blanket?”

Crowley slouched, resting his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Nah. Not cold.” He yawned again, removing his glasses as he closed his eyes. “Wake me up when we land in Germany, angel.”

“If that’s what you want,” Aziraphale replied, tilting his head against Crowley’s for a brief moment before opening his book. 

~

Crowley’s nap lasted all of five hours before Charity crawled into his lap. “Uncle Crow! Uncle Crow!”

“Gah!” Crowley started, noting he had his sunglasses on, thankfully. Aziraphale must’ve heard Charity coming and put them on for him. 

Speaking of Aziraphale, he was asleep…or, at the very least, pretending to be. Crowley yawned and stretched out as much as the confined space would allow. “Bored, are you, Charity?”

“Loads!” Charity replied. “Wanna watch Doctor Who with me? Can I show you the Doctor who looks like you?”

The air in the cabin was starting to blow on him uncomfortably, and Charity was very warm. “Sure, why not?”

Charity curled up in his lap and Crowley held the tablet so they both could see. With a touch to the tablet’s surface, Charity had pulled up Doctor Who on Netflix. With another, she’d pulled up what looked like the farewell episode of one of the Doctors. “Here, this one.” She tapped the screen again and it began to play.

Crowley smiled to himself. Well, well. Anathema wasn’t kidding when she claimed Charity had just a bit of the Apocalypse in her genes.

He then insisted to Charity that the 10th Doctor absolutely couldn’t be him. “Look at that sense of style! And he is very much not ginger!”

Charity laughed and in his “sleep,” Aziraphale smiled.

~

The layover was a good chance for them all to stretch their legs. Adam took Dog out to pee and the Pulsifers went off in search of something to eat. Adam came back with a pretzel. Aziraphale wandered off somewhere and returned with, miraculously, sausage. Crowley didn’t even care where he’d got it, but he insisted that Aziraphale brush his teeth; he was decidedly not going to talk to someone whose breath smelled like onions. Even if that someone was his angel. The Pulsifers returned with coffee and pastries. Charity was eating a chocolate croissant when she asked:

“Why aren’t you eating, Uncle Crow?”

Crowley had thought of this, even though he could feel Aziraphale preparing to answer for him. “I’ve just got a bit of airsickness, that’s all,” he soothed. “I’ll be fine. I just don’t want to upset my stomach by eating.”

“Oh. Okay!” Charity chomped into her pastry hungrily. “Feel better!”

“I’m sure I will once we land.” Crowley reassured her, smiling kindly. To help along his ruse, when they got back on the plane, he asked for some ginger ale. After all, he didn’t want Charity to worry.

“And you call me a softie,” Aziraphale whispered.

“Shut up,” Crowley hissed. Aziraphale giggled.

~

Charity came to cuddle with him about two hours into the flight. “How are you feeling, Uncle Crow?” She asked.

“Tiny bit better.” Crowley brandished his ginger ale.

“He’ll be tickety boo once we land, Charity, don’t worry,” Aziraphale reassured her. “Uncle Crow just doesn’t like flying much.”

Crowley sneered at Aziraphale, who innocently tucked his nose back into his book. 

Charity wanted him to play Angry Birds with her, and Crowley obliged. They took turns trying to beat the puzzle game until he had to confess himself defeated. Mostly because it was getting hard to stare at the bright screen through his sunglasses. Charity put away her tablet and yawned. “’M ‘onna go back to papa,” she said, rubbing her eyes. 

Crowley tilted his head, deciding the little girl was too exhausted to make it back alone. “I’ll take you. C’mon.” He shifted her around in his lap, slinging the handle of the tablet’s case around his wrist, groaning a bit as he tried to get to his feet in the cramped space. Aziraphale cooed at him holding Charity. Crowley flickered his serpentine tongue at the angel, but somehow, that only made him grow more fond. 

Giving up, Crowley rolled his eyes and, holding on tightly to a now mostly asleep Charity, he navigated his way down the aisle, miracling his steps more measured as the plane wobbled a bit in the wind. Adam was sleeping, Dog on his lap keeping watch, but Anathema was awake, and she looked up at Crowley as he passed.

“Did she fall asleep on you?” Anathema asked, somewhere between apologetic and amused.

“Nearly,” Crowley whispered. “I couldn’t let her walk back alone, but she wanted her dad.”

“Newt’s asleep. I’ll take her,” Anathema replied.

The transfer was a little awkward since Adam had the aisle seat, but it was done. Crowley returned the tablet and smiled fondly as he watched Charity wrap her arms around her mother in the same way her little arms had wound around his neck just seconds ago.

“It’s too bad you can’t have a child,” Anathema whispered. “You’d make a great dad.”

Crowley chuckled. “It’s enough to watch Charity grow.” He leaned over the seat to press a kiss to Charity’s forehead and then headed back to his seat, feeling warm and fuzzy inside.

“You know,” Aziraphale said once he’d sat back down, “ I don’t think you’re at all cold blooded anymore.”

That one earned Aziraphale a glare from blazing eyes, But somehow, they both knew Crowley didn’t really mean it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Charity are just the absolute cutest wtf.


	10. Arrival

Ming-Shi was sitting under the pavilion where her family often ate together, kicking her feet under the table and feeding crumbs to Feng, who was sitting beside her, chattering and keeping an eye on the family’s farm cat, who was swishing its tail and staring him down. Her grandmother was sat beside her and her mother sat in front of her. They were eating taro rice with chopsticks, taking a break before it was time to get back to work.

Suddenly, Ming-Shi dropped her chopsticks on the table and sat up. Feng ruffled his feathers, flapping up onto the table. “Mama,” Ming-Shi asked, “what time is it?”

Ai checked her watch. “It’s 12 o’clock. Why?”

“They’re here,” Ming-Shi whispered, turning to Feng. The Roc in disguise nodded solemnly and took off into the sky.

“Who’s here, dear?” Her grandmother asked. “No one’s knocked on the door.”

Ming-Shi looked at her caregivers, and, seeing that she had worried them, shook her head. “No one. Don’t worry. I was thinking about a book I was reading, that’s all.” She smiled, watching her mother and grandmother relax.

“Hurry up and finish your rice, Ming-Shi,” Ai lectured, wagging her finger. “We’ve still got lots of work to do to prepare the feast.”

“Yes, mama,” Ming-Shi replied, turning her eyes skyward towards Feng before digging back in to her rice bowl and doing as she was told.

~

“Halleigh-fucking-luja,” Crowley muttered to Aziraphale as they were disembarking. “My legs were beginning to cramp so badly that I thought I’d never walk again.”

“Don’t be so dramatic!” Aziraphale scolded. “Though, I must say, those seats are not designed for anyone with a curvier body type!” He shuddered, and Crowley couldn’t help chuckling; Aziraphale being angry reminded him of a hissing kitten. Not very threatening, still fluffy. “The nerve of it all! Honestly! That I should be expected to conform to faulty standards is ridiculous!”

“There, there, pet,” Crowley teased with a touch of sincerity, “We only have to endure a thirteen-hour flight back.”

“I could almost say I hate you, Crowley,” Aziraphale grumbled, “but angels are incapable of hate.”

Crowley snorted. “For one, tell that to Gabriel.” Aziraphale thought about that, and then nodded his agreement. “For another, we both know the real reason is that you could never hate me, specifically.”

Aziraphale was about to respond when they spotted their friends, who had been stuck behind during the disembark. Crowley located his and Aziraphale’s bags, while Newt and Adam grabbed the rest. “Well,” said Aziraphale, once they were all together again, “I know I could do with a spot of lunch!”

“There’s also a panda research center not too far from here,” Adam added excitedly. “I’d love to go see that!”

Charity’s eyes lit up. “Pandas?!” She started jumping up and down. “Now we have to go!”

“It might be too warm for them by the time we get over there,” Aziraphale said. “We’ll have to see.”

Crowley got the hint and sighed, pretending to be exasperated. “I’m sure they’ll be out when we come.” Between himself and Adam, a little weather manipulation was nothing. It was less exhausting than stopping time, that was certain.

At least the air quality here was better than in the cities. Crowley took a deep breath, any air preferable to the musty, recycled excuse for oxygen inside the plane. Seeing as their little group was hungry, as humans tend to be after several hours at certain intervals, Aziraphale led them to a quaint little noodle shop not far from the airport. The plan after that was to rent a car and head up to the area around Mianyang, where Aziraphale thought the Daughter of God might be located. They’d have to hike on foot up to the mountains, but that could be managed.

“Shouldn’t we also get a hotel first?” Anathema asked.

“Ah,” Aziraphale, flustered, wrung his hands together. “Yes that would, ah, that would be most prudent.”

Crowley, who had only been nibbling with disinterest at his lo mein, stood up. “I’ll go see what hotels are in the area and bring a car back here. I’ll take the bags, too.” So saying, he gathered up the bags, trying to balance them on his shoulders so that the weight didn’t hurt as much to bear, and went out in search of a hotel…and a car that could fit all of them without being too unworthy for a demon to be seen driving.

He missed the Bentley already.

~

“Ming-Shi!” Ai called from the door to the kitchen. She had sweat on her brow, long dark hair pulled back into a fishtail braid. Her fingers were bloody from the raw pork she’d just been chopping up. 

“Coming, mama!” Ming-Shi lifted up the basket she’d been using to pick passionfruit and darted up the lines of fruits and vegetables growing in neat little lines, dodging the young puppies who had been following her hoping for a nibble. Feng soared behind her, the bell on his ankle dingling merrily, the white and black ribbons flowing out behind him like an extended tail. 

Panting, Ming-Shi proudly handed over her basket. “Here, mama! Here’s the passionfruit you needed!”

“Perfect, thank you.” Ai carefully looped the basket over her arm so she wouldn’t get blood all over it. “I need you to go get some crayfish for me, down by the plowing fields where we take the cow.” She gestured to a tin bucket sitting by the door. “That just needs a rinse, and then you can take it down there.”

“Okay, mama!” Ming-Shi replied obediently.

“You’re going to be all right, going down there by yourself?” Ai asked, somehow knowing the answer already.

Ming-Shi nodded, lifting out her arm to let Feng land on it as she picked up the bucket. “I’ll bring Bao down there with me to protect me.” Bao was one of the larger dogs that lived on the Ling family farm. He was scruffy and protective, often one of the first dogs to know when company was coming. Ming-Shi knew no harm would come to her down in the fields, for she had wandered the length of her property by herself many times already, but she also knew it might be fun to have Bao with her. He could probably help her find some roots that her mama might need. Or she could just throw him sticks instead.

“All right, if you’re sure,” Ai replied, bending down to wash her hands in another bucket nearby. “Don’t forget to rinse the bucket!”

“I won’t, mama!” Ming-Shi called over her shoulder. Still holding Feng on her arm, she strolled through the long rows of greenery to the pump at the back of the property. Pulling a little wooden stool over so that she could reach it properly, she put the bucket under the chute. She looked at Feng. “Any sign of them yet?”

Feng blinked, shaking his head. The center of his eyes shone with ethereal light. 

“That’s okay. We’ll see them soon.” Ming-Shi giggled, setting down Feng on the edge of the pump as she turned on the faucet, letting water run into the bucket. “I wonder if Mr. Black will come prepared, or if he’ll ruin his shoes,” she wondered, rinsing the bucket and then turning off the water. She looked at Feng. “What do you think?”

Feng flapped his wings indifferently. Ming-Shi giggled. “Come on, silly bird,” she offered her arm and Feng flew to perch on it. “Let’s go. Bao!” She called. “Bao! Come with me!”

The scruffy dog barked, running immediately to her side. Ming-Shi scratched the dog behind his ears. “Good boy. You’re meant to look after me while I go to the fields for crayfish, all right? Will you fetch some sticks for me? Yes?” She launched Feng up into the air and let the raven soar up, flying low just above her head. “Come on. Good boy.”

The Daughter of God wandered off down the embankment towards the lowlands of the plowing fields, bucket in hand and a stick in the other. She threw it a little ways ahead of her, laughing with glee as Bao went and got it for her. She didn’t have a care in the world. Even if danger would come with her new friends, she knew with equal certainty that they couldn’t hurt her. 

That was why they were friends, after all. Friends didn’t hurt each other. Not on purpose, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, now I've gone and messed up the notes for the chapters. I hate Ao3's formatting sometimes. You'd think after four years or so on this site I'd understand it. NOPE! *sigh*
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy me literally ripping imagery from Li Ziqi. If you haven't seen her videos yet, go check em out! They're so cool and relaxing. I put her channel link below. 
> 
> (I'm not being paid to promote her, *insert Marge Simpson meme* I just think she's neat.)
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCoC47do520os_4DBMEFGg4A/videos


	11. Hike

Crowley found them a hotel with three rooms. He also convinced the hotel manager that Dog needed to stay in the hotel, too, despite it not being dog friendly. 

He hoped Adam still had that service dog vest.

They were at the hotel, changing, ready to go out into the wild. Well, the humans and Aziraphale were changing. Crowley was not.

‘You’re going to ruin your shoes, Crowley,” Aziraphale warned him from the bathroom where he was adjusting the argyle sweater he had somehow thought was more appropriate for hiking than his usual outfit. No, better yet, it was a sweater vest, with a crisp white dress shirt underneath. 

“I can miracle myself new shoes,” Crowley replied indignantly, stretched out on the king-sized bed in the room. It was his, after all, seeing as Aziraphale had never once slept in 6000 years. “Why would I care about getting these ones,” he kicked out a foot for emphasis, “dirty? For Heaven’s sake.” He croaked. “Fuck, I said it again.”

“You act like it harms you to even mention it,” Aziraphale teased him. “No need to be overdramatic when it’s just us.”

Crowley rolled his eyes and yawned. “I’ll miracle myself a hat. It’ll be buggy.”

“You’ll miracle a new hat, but no shoes? Make sense, at least, Crowley!” Aziraphale stepped out of the bathroom; Crowley could tell even with his eyes closed because the quality of his voice improved and wasn’t tinny, like it had been in the bathroom. “And don’t fall asleep! If you’d actually had anything halfway decent to eat at all, you wouldn’t be so tired!”

“No, if I had been eating my fill, I’d be sleepier,” Crowley corrected him. “Besides, I’m only being lazy.” He stretched with a grunt, sitting up on the bed and scratching behind his ear. “When were we supposed to meet in the lobby?”

Aziraphale checked his pocket watch. “Five minutes.” The vest made his podgy stomach stick out even more, and Crowley had to smile. Aziraphale had never wanted his corporation to be thin, and he hadn’t tried to stop it from getting bigger around the middle, not once. It was adorable. 

The demon yawned, letting his jaw stretch wider than a human’s normally could, knowing that it didn’t bother his angel, and sighed. “I don’t know if I could find good boots to match.”

“Think of something,” Aziraphale said with a shrug. “You always do.” He stepped towards the door, spritzing himself with bug spray, making the room smell like sickly sweet chemicals. 

Crowley wrinkled his nose and thought. Then, he remembered that combat boots were fashionable, and would also go better with his ensemble. Standing up, he also replaced his typical nice trousers for a pair of black skinny jeans. He stretched out his hand, wriggling his fingers. “Bug spray.”

“Not near the bed, dear,” Aziraphale said lightly, tossing him the can.

“Why do you care? ‘s my bed.” But Crowley stepped over by the door to spray himself down. Then, he miracled himself a black brimmed hat, made of a lighter material than the fedora (not trilby) he’d worn back during World War II. 

“See?” Aziraphale, his rounded face peering out from under a straw sun hat, grinned in delight. “It wasn’t so hard to change after all.”

Crowley rolled his eyes fondly and jingled the keys of the rental car. “Let’s go, angel. I want you to ride shotgun, and if we don’t get there first, Adam might call it.”

~

Adam did not get to call shotgun.

Crowley navigated the busy streets with ease, and though this rental car wasn’t exactly his Bentley, cars all worked pretty much the same way, which made them easy to enchant. 

The area of Mianyang they’d have to go to was up a trail heading close to the base of the mountain. The rural area was full of farmers and farm animals. There were just as many animals as people, maybe even twice that, and there were plenty of children without parents hanging around and acting like adults.

Crowley found a place to park his car while Aziraphale chatted with the locals. They were supposed to have a guide, but it seems there weren’t many foreigners interested in Mianyang. When Crowkey had made his way back to the group, Charity was on Newt’s shoulders, half asleep, Dog was yapping at some ducks, and Aziraphale was nervous.

“I couldn’t find us a guide,” Aziraphale wailed.

Crowley rolled his shoulders. “’s all right. We’ll figure it out. Probably better that we get to go it alone, honestly.” He looked to Adam.

“I think if we follow everyone else up the path, we should be good.” Adam said, tugging on Dog’s leash.

Crowley turned around. “Right. Everybody ready to go?”

Anathema nodded, and Newt followed suit. Charity grinned.

They never had gotten to see the pandas, but there would be plenty of time for that.

Hopefully.

~

The mountains were quiet and foggy, tall forests of bamboo towering above their heads, and magnolia trees scattering their pink petals along the ground. Without a guide, there was nowhere to go but up, though it was a beautiful sight nonetheless.

Crowley was glad he’d miracled shoes and a hat for himself. The combat boots were better over the uneven terrain, and the hat helped keep the bugs out of his eyes. It even allowed him to peer over the tops of his sunglasses, breathing in deeply all the verdant greenery all around them.

Aziraphale seemed to be having the time of his life, stopping to smell different flowers and picking quite a few of them. Charity darted just ahead of them, now in long pants and wellies with a little panda face on the tops of the boots. Her curly hair was pulled back off her face, and she kept luring Dog along behind her with sticks she found of the ground. It was…quiet. Peaceful. Crowley had never felt more at home in nature, nor had he ever felt nature more idyllic.

They stopped to rest underneath a tall flowering magnolia tree, whose branches hung down, seeming to tease the top of Crowley’s head. Charity had climbed up to one of the low, thick branches, drinking her water and looking all around.

“It’s beautiful,” Anathema mused. She and Newt had been quiet, and Adam had only spoken a few times. Really, they’d all been traveling in relative silence, hushed by the beauty of the world around them. “It feels really calm here.”

“Like the Garden,” Aziraphale murmured, closing his eyes and smiling. 

Adam poured some of his water into a little folding cup for Dog. “There’s something blessed about it,” he said. “It reminds me of the chill I felt when I walked into a church once.”

“How did you get around that, anyway?” Newt asked. “I feel like everyone in small towns goes to church, if only just to hang out.”

Adam shrugged. “My mum and dad aren’t really religious, and when they did want to go, I stayed home sick.”

“Ahh,” Aziraphale murmured. “That’s a clever defense.”

“Hey, Uncle Crow!”

Crowley turned around, only to be hit in the face with a handful of petals. 

“Flower bomb!” Charity cried out, giggling.

Crowley chuckled, pulling petals out of his shirt. “These are a different type of magnolia than we’ve seen so far,” he mused, gently pulling down one of the branches and smelling the flower thoughtfully. “Hm. I think it’s liliflora.”

“Liliflora?” Aziraphale opened his eyes and sat up, away from the tree he’d been leaning against. “That’s an edible flower. You can use it in teas and dumplings and jams!”

“Hm.” Crowley hummed, thumbing gently through the branch he was holding until he found a suitable flower. “If I recall correctly, they also have a symbolic meaning.” He handed the flower to Aziraphale, who smiled and tucked it into his breast pocket.

“What’s it mean, Uncle Crow?” Charity asked, leaning forward off the branch.

The demon was about to respond when Adam suddenly stood up. “I felt something,” he said, looking at Crowley. “Did you feel it, too?”

Crowley tilted his head. “Yeah…I do.” Like a breeze coming off the mountain, a sensation washed over the area around them. And Crowley suddenly had a feeling that this lone tree was not a coincidence. “Aziraphale…she’s nearby.” Walking a few steps away from Charity, he removed his glasses, glancing around. “The Daughter of God.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUN DUN DUUUUNNNNNN
> 
> Guess who's procrastinating on all her adult tasks to finish this fic? *raises hand* 
> 
> ...please appreciate it.


	12. Hello

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: EMETOPHOBIA!!!! 
> 
> I've marked the beginning and end of it with three asterisks (***) so that you can avoid it, if you choose. It shouldn't change how you understand the chapter.

Demons have their expendable soldiers. They are called Hydras because if they are not killed correctly, they will multiply. A male and female pair are kept together with iron bars separating them. This is so they can see and smell each other in heat, but are unable to do much about that. This makes them dangerous; all that pent-up sexual frustration, that was not well understood by most demons except those of Lust, it was thought, would make them better soldiers.

Aziraphale and Crowley had been right after all; Ming-Shi was not planned. She happened, and Heaven looked after her as much as they could be bothered to (the thing about Heaven was that it could be cold and feel as abandoned as its long, pristine corridors), which is to say, they sent her a Roc. Heaven had always treated God’s children as if it was an absent parent. One little gift for Christmas, and that was it. No child support, no visiting, nothing. In a weird way, Hell was more attentive to its children.

But part of the problem was that Ming-Shi was wrong, which is to say, as wrong as anything Heaven could ever do. Gabriel, Michael, and Sandalphon were all standing around scratching their heads, wondering how the Heaven this fit into The Ineffable Plan. They still sent her a Roc, of course, but then they turned the backs, as they knew they had to, in order to let fate run its course. In their opinion, the demons that would surely tear her to pieces were absolutely justified in doing so. After all, their new Messiah wasn’t due for 10,000 years, and he was meant to be a genderqueer black disabled American.

But that was the thing about The Ineffable Plan; it knew exactly what it was meant to be. It had planned for Crowley and Aziraphale for 6,000 years. It had cleverly planned to avoid the end of the world, and it was planning around Ming-Shi.

God, after all, never made mistakes. That’s why the low level demon who was supposed to be looking after the Hydras fell asleep on duty and failed to lock the door.

Now, you’d think a pair of Hydras, which look like a nightmarish cross between a velociraptor and a dilophosaurus (those fancy carnivorous dinosaurs with the frills on their neck), with their large size (around six feet tall with their long necks full extended), glowing red eyes, and long dark contour that glowed like embers in low light, wouldn’t go unnoticed even in the busy hallways of Hell, but Hydras at their full power are capable of camouflage, their coal-black bodies with scales made from dark matter able to resemble anything they pass by. So this is what the two did. 

The female, obviously the smarter of the two, stuck her head out first. She had a much smaller frill around the top of her head whose front flaps had markings that looked like an eye to intimidate her prey. The spines running down from the top of her head to her tail were like a porcupine’s, and could attach easily to any corporeal form she chose. The tip of her tail, which looked a bit like an artichoke but was much more deadly, being filled with more of those deadly spines, swished like a cat’s, her glowing eyes scanning the area. 

Seeing that the cost was clear, she looked over her shoulder towards her mate, holding her small arms close to her chest, the big claws on her feet shimmering in the low light. She snorted at him and then silently slunk out into the hallway, her body camouflaging against the damp, concrete walls.

The male, with a shorter snout, more teeth, and a larger frill, poked his head around the corner. He had a more muscular frame compared to his mate’s sleek design, clearly built to be a warrior. The heavy armored plates decorating his sides were basically just larger scales, like those of a pangolin, to protect him from harm. He had longer arms and two clawed toes instead of just one on each foot. His tail was shorter, but its end had a deadly club, which he would aim at his oponent’s soft underbelly, knocking the wind out of them. 

He slipped out after his mate and the two slunk along the walls, slipping through the shadows, under the noses of unsuspecting demons. After all, because the Messiah was not meant to be born for centuries, they didn’t care what Heaven was up to. But the Hydras were meant to seek out the young Messiah and kill her by any means necessary. And they knew they had a good chance of succeeding. So the Hydras made their way to China, by way of secret underground tunnels that were not at all dug by Tibetans. 

~

Ming-Shi yawned, trailing her fingers through the murky water in the plowing fields. She had her rain boots on and an old tee shirt over her other clothes, her bangs sticking to her forehead with sweat. She’d found most of the crayfish she needed by digging near the waterbed. Now, she just had to wait. 

She turned to Feng, who was perched on top of the bucket. “They’re close,” she said to him. “I know they are.” Bao was asleep in the grass beside her, and she scratched him absently behind the ears. “I’ll know once he barks. Until then,” she pulled her knees up to her chest, resting her head on top of them and closing her eyes, “I can rest for a while.”

~

Anathema was leading them now, her pendulum tilting forward. “The energy readout is going nuts!” She exclaimed. “I can feel it all the way up my arm!”

Crowley looked around him, seeing more and more liliflora trees. He had a feeling there was a significance to them. It meant that they were getting close. He could feel the holy energy assaulting him from all sides, and by the way Adam was beginning to pant, shielding his eyes from imaginary light, the Antichrist could, too. Things would likely calm down a little once they found her, but it was because she was calling them that this energy was so strong.

Aziraphale, in the middle of the group, seemed to glow with ecstasy. It must have felt invigorating to him, to bask in such holiness after so long on Earth. The magnolia flower was still safe in his pocket. Crowley suspected he’d pinned it there with a miracle; his angel was sentimental like that.

“Argh,” Adam groaned, and Dog growled. “I’ve got such a fucking migraine…” He blinked at Crowley. “How are you still standing?”

***Crowley shrugged. “I’ve brushed with grace before.” Truth be told, he felt as though he was going to vomit everything currently undigested in his corporeal stomach, plus most of his internal organs, but he was trying valiantly to keep that at bay…

Shit. Scratch that. Crowley lumbered towards one of the trees and bent over, pulling his scarf out of the way as bile came rushing up his throat.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale called, rushing over and hovering around him, hands flapping, not really sure what to do as the demon retched. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s Her,” Adam explained, rubbing his temples. “I think she’s calling us to her…it’s everywhere, like…” he traced his finger through the air, “like smoke.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Oh, dear. You two had better sit down. We’ll go the rest of the way, and—”

“No,” Crowley croaked, coughing as his stomach tried, and failed, to expel more from his body. He took a deep breath, wiping his brow. “’S okay, ‘m fine, ‘m coming,” he hiccupped and spit out some rather nasty-looking gunk.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured, the lines around his eyes and mouth tight with worry, “if you do this much damage to yourself, you’ll discorporate.”

Adam flopped down onto a large rock nearby and put his head between his knees as best as he could. Dog, panting heavily, lay down on his side beside his master. “I’ll take you up on that offer, Aziraphale,” he mumbled quietly; his head hurt too much to talk aloud. “My head feels like it’s going to explode.”

“There, now, you see?” Aziraphale turned to Crowley again. “My dear, we’ll be all right! You can stay with Adam, and we’ll find the girl and tell Her to lower the intensity of her powers, all right? It’s not her fault, I’m sure.”

“No, she’s young,” Crowley hiccupped again, but he was certain his corporeal stomach was now empty, and it appeared as if the violent vomiting had not dislodged any important organs. None of it was bloody, either; just half-digested food and bile. The thought and smell of it alone made Crowley retch. “’M fine, angel, I want to go with you.”

“Everything all right?” Newt asked, coming back towards them. His nose wrinkled when he smelled the vomit. “Eugh. What happened?” He plugged his nose, looking away.

“Crowley and Adam are being negatively affected by Her beacon,” Aziraphale explained. “Adam’s only got a migraine, but Crowley—”

“—is okay, Aziraphale,” Crowley interrupted, pushing himself off the tree, blinking a little in the light. Seems as though he’d knocked his sunglasses off. Not wanting to even miracle that pair clean (just like Aziraphale claimed he’d always know about the paintball stain on his favorite jacket, the same went for all that…body matter…all over his glasses. Ew), he made himself a new pair, making that pair disappear. “I’ll be fine. The worst of it’s passed.” This was mostly true; he still felt nauseous and unsteady, but there wasn’t anything in his stomach that could be thrown up, thankfully. He’d just feel a bit rubbish. 

Aziraphale made to protest, and Newt seemed quite confused, trapped between opposing forces, when Anathema called: “Hey! Guys! I think I found something!”

Newt ran ahead to catch up. Aziraphale walked backwards several steps to follow, watching Crowley with no small amount of terror.

Crowley waved him on. He wasn’t going to discorporate, and it wasn’t nearly as bad as holy water would have been. (Obviously not, for he was still here, but being even in proximity to holy water made his stomach churn; there was a reason why he’d kept it locked up in a safe to keep its aura at bay.) He’d catch up.

Aziraphale, with one last worried look at Crowley, his blue-gray eyes as round and sorrowful as a puppy’s, turned and rushed up the hill to see what Anathema had found. Crowley stumbled up the embankment, still clutching his stomach. His throat also felt raw, and he was certain his breath didn’t smell all that nice. But he had to keep going, to at least pretend to Aziraphale that he was all right.***

…oh, who was he kidding? He was trying to fool himself, really. Aziraphale could see right through his deceptions; it was kind of his job, after all.

Crowley just had to climb one last hill to get to the others. Just one more…

~

Ming-Shi felt the presence of the others before she saw them, and, certainly, before they saw her. She sat up and turned around, facing the forest that surrounded the plowing fields. Her eyes zeroed in on the figure in white, talking animatedly to a young woman standing beside her. Where was the figure in black? Had he gotten lost?

“Come on, Feng,” Ming-Shi picked up the bucket, making Feng flutter onto the ground. “Don’t get your ribbons dirty!” She scolded, offering her arm for him to climb onto. Feng did so, adjusting his wings and shaking himself off. “Go,” she launched him off her hand. “See if Mr. Black is there and come back to me.” 

She watched Feng fly off with a cry and then patted her thigh. “Come, Bao. Good dog. Come with me.” She began to walk towards the group, careful to watch where she stepped to avoid any snakes hiding in the grass.

~

“What’s that?” Charity asked, pointing upwards towards the sky. A black bird was circling them in the sky. Anathema put a hand up to shield her eyes, looking up. 

“Is it a vulture?” She asked.

Aziraphale and Newt looked, too. 

“I do believe it’s a raven!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “How odd! I didn’t think there were many ravens in China!”

“Could that be the Roc?” Newt asked Anathema quietly.

“Could be,” his wife replied. 

“Look!” Charity cried. “It’s a girl!”

~

The female Hydra stopped short, causing her mate to nearly collide with her, grumbling and hissing at her. The female turned to him, hissing back. She’d felt something. The aura surrounding the Daughter of God was getting stronger now, which could only mean one thing.

The male tossed his head, urging the female onward with a screeching battle cry she was only too happy to return.

The angel and demon rejected by their homes had found the girl. And their energy would lead the Hydras right to the vulnerable Messiah.

The Hydras were hungry. They needed their kill.

~

“A girl?’ Crowley croaked.

Aziraphale turned around, immediately scrambling to help him climb the rest of the way up. Dizzy, Crowley leaned heavily on his angel for a minute before forcing himself upright. He didn’t want Aziraphale to think he was so badly off…even when the nausea in his stomach was beginning to mount once more, and suddenly, Crowley was beginning to doubt if he really had thrown up everything his corporeal body was capable of expelling.

“Hi!” Charity waved. “What’s your name?”

The little Chinese girl standing in front of them should not have been able to understand them, much less speak perfect English. Aziraphale watched in awe as the child stretched out an arm, letting the raven they’d seen before land on her like a perch. The raven’s head seemed to lean towards her ear, as if it were telling her a secret. The girl smiled, taking inventory with her eyes.

Good. They were all here.

“Hello,” the child said, “welcome to China. My name is Ming-Shi, and I am the Daughter of God.”


	13. Wait

Anathema and Newt looked at each other in confusion. They were surprised that the little girl, Daughter of God or not, had been able to understand and speak English. Charity seemed amused by the situation, about to speak if Aziraphale hadn’t got to it first. 

“Hello,” Aziraphale bowed respectfully. “Um. I don’t suppose you could…lessen your beacon, just a bit? As you can see,” the angel nodded to Crowley, who was holding his stomach and wobbling on his feet, “some of our party have been negatively affected by Your holy energy.”

“Oh, of course.” Ming-Shi replied, centering herself. Some of the holy energy dissipated, and it was back to manageable levels. Crowley could still feel the serene grace around him, but it was only on a little bit of a higher level than he usually felt around the angel; kind of like being in the bookshop while Aziraphale was spring cleaning. Dog’s barking alerted them to the presence of Adam, who was jogging to catch up. 

“Thank you,” Aziraphale replied. “And thank you for using your powers to help us understand you.”

“Ooh,” Crowley mused, miracling some gum for himself to rid the taste of bile from his mouth. “Right. It’s called “babbling.” I’ve heard about that.” 

“Babbling?” Anathema asked.

“After the Tower of Babel,” Crowley explained. “It’s a celestial power. We all can technically “babble,” but the Christ was said to be able to create spheres where He could be understood by small groups so that others couldn’t interfere. It creates a kind of circle, where each person hears the other in their native language.”

“That’s cool!” Adam exclaimed. “Wish I could talk to Dog!”

“Now that everyone is here,” Ming-Shi announced, “I’d like to invite you back to my home. I’m sure you all must be hungry by now.” With that, she turned and, carrying the bucket and with the dog by her side, started leading them back up the path she’d come down.

Charity had darted ahead to introduce herself, and the two children seemed to take to each other immediately. Aziraphale and Crowley fell back, allowing their human companions a chance to reach the top first, seeing as food was vital to their survival.

“Was she anything like you thought she might be?” Crowley asked, at the same time Aziraphale was asking him, “Are you feeling all right?”

“You first, dear boy,” Aziraphale offered, his storm-colored eyes looking worried and watery. 

Crowley nodded. “Well, I’ve been better, but at least the grace is at a level I can stand to be near.” He nodded to Aziraphale, putting his hands in his pockets.

The angel sighed. “Well, it’s hard to say. She’s young, but she does remind me of Jesus as a boy; bright, kind, and generous.” He adjusted his hat and swatted away a few bugs. “I don’t suppose you have any inkling as to when the demons will come. Hopefully after lunch.” He began to clinically assess the demon walking beside him. “You need to get your strength back.”

“Felle, honestly,” Crowley grumbled. “I’m fine! Besides, my stomach is twisted up in knots. I don’t think I could eat for all the gold in the world!”

Aziraphale huffed. “Will you at least have some sugary tea, please? I’m awfully worried about you.”

Crowley smiled fondly. “That I can do, old friend.”

~

Once they arrived at the farm near the base of the mountain, Ming-Shi introduced her mother, Ai Ling, and led the weary party to the little pavilion area that overlooked the long rows of vegetables and a small outdoor porch area with a fire pit off to one side, and a tiny pond off to another. Then, the little girl bowed respectfully, imploring her guests to relax and wait to be served. Fragrant jasmine tea and wild onion noodles with scrambled eggs on top were brought out in pots to be served to the group. Ai didn’t stay to dine with the group, but Ming-Shi did. 

Aziraphale praised the local delicacy, and Crowley even managed to nibble a little just to be polite. His stomach was still rather moody from its upset on the hike up here, so he substituted food for several cups of liberally sugared, well-steeped tea. The humans all got to happily eat their fill, starved from their exertions. Once bellies began to fill, conversation began to sprout up.

Crowley, feeling a bit uneasy, listened with half an ear for any demons that might be hiding here and there in the forest surrounding them. It was Aziraphale who was the first to speak on more serious topics, though he waited for Dog to run off and distract Charity. “So, Ming-Shi. It means “Light of the World,” doesn’t it?”

Ming-Shi made a vague sort of “eeehhh” noise. “Sort of. “Ming” means “light,” and “shi” means “world,” so.”

“Ah,” Crowley mumbled distractedly, “clever.”

“So, you’re the Daughter of God,” Newt said. “How does that even…work? Are you a reincarnation of Jesus?”

“I think so.” Ming-Shi replied. “I have a part of Him. But I’m me, mostly.” She smiled kindly, and then sighed. “I know there’re demons coming here. They’re going to try to kill me.” She looked at her lap. Feng landed beside her, cooing. “I…I wasn’t supposed to be here. They’re going to punish me.” Her voice trembled, betraying her fear. After all, she was only five.

Anathema put a hand on her shoulder, making the little girl look up, letting everyone see tears running down her cheeks. “Don’t cry, Ming-Shi. We’ll protect you as best as we can.”

“That’s why we wanted to come here in the first place,” Aziraphale said gently, smiling as he reached across the table towards her. “We won’t let any harm come to you.”

“How much do you know about your powers?” Adam asked.

Ming-Shi looked towards her adversary, unafraid. “Not much,” she admitted. “I can feel things, and make things happen. I know that certain things will come to pass. But I don’t know everything I can do.” She glanced at Crowley. “I’m scared of snakes. I think one will try to bite me in the upcoming battle.”

“Crowley’s the only snake here,” Aziraphale explained. “He’s not going to hurt you. You have my word.”

“Adam,” the demon shifted in his seat, showing his golden eyes over the rims of his sunglasses. “Do you feel that?”

Adam nodded. “They’re coming. Hydras.”

“Hydras?” Aziraphale asked, looking to Crowley. “They wouldn’t…”

“What are Hydras?” Newt asked.

“We can’t let them come here,” Ming-Shi declared, standing up. “It’s my fault they came here. I don’t want my family to get hurt.”

“They can sense us, Aziraphale,” Crowley glanced at the angel. “We can meet them at the base of the mountain, hold them off.”

“And then what?” Aziraphale demanded.

Crowley shrugged. “Try not to die. Keep her,” he gestured to Ming-Shi, “alive.” He looked at Adam. “We need you nearby. Your reality-altering powers will help us with this.”

“Okay,” Adam replied, nodding. “This is kind of exciting!”

“Right,” Crowley said, grabbing hold of Aziraphale’s hand. “Everyone ready to teleport?”

“What?” Newt asked.

“No time to explain.” Anathema grabbed his hand.

Crowley and Aziraphale used their combined strength to teleport them all away from the farm.

Now all they had to do was wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was rushed. 
> 
> My computer has this issue where certain keys will freeze up, and the entire time I was writing this, the space bar and the return key were stuck. >.> So...blame that if you think it's shitty.
> 
> I'm going to try and finish this one tomorrow so I can work on Revelations a bit.


	14. War

The teleport felt very tingly, like a balloon with static being waved around your head. Crowley and Aziraphale had used their combined powers to basically reduce everyone present to particles and return them some ways away from the farm.

“Everyone all right?” Aziraphale asked, looking over his shoulder. He was still holding Crowley’s hand, but neither he nor the demon seemed to realize this just yet. 

Anathema, Newt, and Charity had ended up on their butts in the grass, rubbing their heads and groaning. They all were suffering from body aches due to being rapidly disassembled and then reassembled without warning. Dog teleported in lying on the ground, panting heavily, but he got up and shook himself, running over to Adam’s side. Adam seemed fine, though, as did Ming-Shi and Feng. 

Adam knelt down before Ming-Shi, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Look,” he said, “I know I’m technically your enemy, but…I don’t want you to think of me that way. When I was eleven, the world was supposed to end because of me, but I changed that. I abandoned my satanic father.” He smiled gently. “You have more power than you realize, than everyone else realizes. Just remember that.”

Ming-Shi nodded, petting Feng, who was sitting on her arm. Her clothing had miraculously changed; she was wearing a long, white silk dress with cap sleeves that billowed in the wind. Feng’s wings glowed blue around the edges, his eyes swirling like a thousand galaxies. Her long hair flowed down her back and around her face. She herself seemed to glow.

“The Daughter of God…” Anathema murmured under her breath. “I know that’s what we were looking for all along, but…I can barely believe it now.”

“Me neither.” Newt replied, cleaning his glasses on his tee shirt.

“What’s going on?” Charity asked, still sitting stunned on the grass. “What’s happening? How did we get here?”

“Oi, Pulsifers!” Crowley called over his shoulder. “Step back a bit. You too, Adam. Make sure you protect them.”

“Got it.” Adam stood up and stretched, then herded the family back a few paces. Dog stood watch on the other side of them, his long white hair blowing in the wind that seemed to be picking up, as if a storm was coming.

Well…maybe it was.

Ming-Shi came forward towards the angel and the demon, stopping in front of them. “What’s a Hydra?”

“Terrible Hellbeasts,” Crowley snarled. “Soldiers. An endless supply of multiplying soldiers.” He finally dropped Aziraphale’s hand, forming an onyx-colored two-handed sword. 

Aziraphale took hold of Ming-Shi’s hand, stepping behind Crowley. Teleporting had put them back in their typical attire, which was just as well. It would’ve been frustrating to figure out how to move in new clothes. He’d heard of Hydras before. They were a relatively new weapon in Hell’s arsenal; dangerous, starved, and grotesque. But he had never faced one before. The Archangels, Michael, Gabriel, and Uriel (Metatron was retired) had fought Hydras before, so he’d heard the stories. They were capable of creating entire armies in the blink of an eye, nearly impossible to kill because of their spawning methods. He trusted Crowley to know what to do, but it didn’t mean he didn’t think it was dangerous.

The wind picked up in full force. Feng cawed, flapping his wings nervously. Aziraphale had to hold onto Ming-Shi, for the force of it nearly knocked her off her feet. Crowley put both hands on his sword, lips curled up in a snarl, eyes scanning the surrounding area. He could feel the Hydras, a male and female pair, closing in on their location.

There they were. The ripples around their camouflage showed up as they whispered through the tall grass. The male became visible first, leaping at Crowley, many ferocious teeth bared. Crowley brought the sword down, splitting the male in half. But no blood or guts resulted from the killing; no, instead, the two halves became whole. Two new males, much smaller than the first. One slashed at Crowley’s leg, the other tried to charge Aziraphale, but Feng fluttered in front of it, spitting blue heavenly fire at it. 

Crowley sliced the head off the second male, while Feng knocked back the third. But two smaller yet males were made in their places.

The female was smarter. She’d bide her time, watching from the sidelines as her mate multiplied again and again. She could look at the humanoids and know which ones were supernatural and which were not. She ignored the dark, brooding soul of the former Antichrist, who two of the pieces of her mate was fighting, and focused on the little girl that glowed like the brightest, purest light. That was her target.

And…how fortunate for her, that there was a soldier that she could control. All it would take was one of her spines to lodge into his body. Then, she would have an ally. She needed rid of that blasted Roc so she could get to the girl. She knew just by observing the demon that he could transform. That would come to her advantage.

But he had been tainted. His essence was not pure. It was muddled by the angel who now stood beside him, muddled by the Earth and its influences and pleasures. The demon himself had been tempted, but he could be tempted again. 

The female lay low in the grass, chuckling to herself. Yes, she could wait. When he was tired, then she would strike.

“There’s too many of them!” Adam cried, once again swiping away one of the Hydras with a large stick. Dog was nipping at their heels, but it was hard to keep them all at bay. “We’re surrounded and outnumbered!”

“You think I can’t see that?!” Crowley shouted, slicing one of the Hydras through the heart. This was the permanent death, letting that Hydras dissolve into ash. But these males were covered in plate armor, making that hit a nigh-impossible one to make, and the fact that the male was now spliced in so many different pieces, it made him vulnerable, so any little swipe could kill him, making him multiply further. One of the larger male Hydras chomped down hard into his arm. It burned, and Crowley cried out, his sword falling.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale cried, reaching out to try and heal him. However, the other bigger Hydra came up and hit Aziraphale in the stomach, knocking him back onto the grass.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley cried out, removing his glasses. “All right, that’s it, you motherfuckers,” He snarled. “Bring it on!” He put all of his energy into slicing up the Hydras, trying to make them smaller and less of a threat. Feng could now cause permanent deaths for them by eating them as easily as he had eaten small lizards and snakes.

“Thank you, Feng!” Ming-Shi called, hovering over Aziraphale to heal him.

The female crept closer. The demon was so distracted that he couldn’t sense her. She hissed at her mate’s pieces to get them to part for her to pass. Yes. All she had to do was get her spikes into him…

She made herself visible and charged straight at the wounded angel, knowing that he would rise to protect his mate.

Ming-Shi saw the other Hydra and screamed, distracting Crowley. “Aziraphale!” He dashed over as fast as he could, putting himself between the Hydra and his angel, protecting the Daughter of God as well.

Aziraphale, healed just a minute too late, cried out, “Crowley!”

But it was too late.

The female Hydra had jumped on Crowley like a velociraptor, her feet planted on his hips, her terrible teeth lodged in his shoulder. Worst of all, like a scorpion, her stinging tail was lodged in his stomach, the poison from the spikes running through him. Crowley’s body twitched, strained hisses passing his lips, as the darkness from the poison worked its way into his bloodstream.

The female Hydra, her work done, leapt off him and waited some distance away, licking her snout with her tongue.

Aziraphale pushed Ming-Shi behind him, Feng fluttering on her other side, glowing with heavenly light. “…Crowley?” He asked, reaching out to him.

Crowley turned around. His eyes were wild and hungry and fully serpentine, tail flicking out of his mouth, scales forming on his forehead and neck. He smiled a demonic smile that was not his own and transformed into a snake, charging straight at Ming-Shi.

The Daughter of God collapsed to the ground, terrified, screaming, her arms thrown over her head. 

The female Hydra raised her head and roared.

She had taken control of the reluctant demon. He was on Hell’s side once again.


	15. Hope

“Crowley!” Aziraphale tried to intercept the snake, but it merely slithered through his open legs. The serpent bared its venomous fangs, ready to strike down the heavenly daughter when, with a war cry of his own, Feng descended from above, scratching and clawing at the serpent. This gave the angel time to take Ming-Shi away, to a safer place. 

Charity watched in horror as her uncle first became mad, then…became a snake. She trembled, hiding in her mother’s thigh. “It…it can’t be…” This was almost like Doctor Who, except there was no Doctor now. “Mummy, is…?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” Anathema lifted Charity up, hugging her tightly. “Uncle Crow is a demon.”

Charity began to cry. Demons were awful and horrible and ate children. And her uncle, the man whom she’d often played with safely, was just in disguise this whole time?! “Is he going to eat us?” She sobbed.

Anathema looked helplessly at Newt, who mirrored her expression. They didn’t have an answer for her. They didn’t understand what was happening.

Crowley snapped again and again at the bird, trying to get a grip on him. His singular purpose was to eat the Roc sent from Heaven. This would weaken the Daughter of God, make her easy prey for the female Hydra. The poison swelled within him, whispering to him, preying on the hunger that sat in the pit of his gut, the beast that desired food, that wanted sustenance to live. His mind was chaos, whispering to him. If he could only just get the bird, scratches be damned!

Aziraphale spread his wings and folded them around Ming-Shi, who was curled up against him, sobbing into his shoulder. “It’s all right,” he soothed, running a hand through her hair. “It’s okay. You’re safe. I’ve got you.” His wings were like a shield, and their ethereal light meant no demons would dare to come near. He didn’t know what had happened to Crowley. He thought of what he knew, his mind racing to collect information. Gabriel had once bragged to him that he’d survived a Hydra’s injection. Female Hydras had poisonous spines that, when lodged in demon flesh, took control of them. It was Hell’s sick version of a call to arms. Aziraphale thought of the demons he’d seen during the trial, and wondered how many of them had wanted to join the fight…and how many of them had been forced, injected with poison, made into soldiers.

He wondered if he would ever see his friend again.

Ming-Shi looked up and then cried out in horror. “Feng!”

Aziraphale stood up, still pushing her behind him though her tears started anew at the sight. Crowley’s body had launched itself up in the air, its horrid mouth now closed around the Roc’s body. Unlike angels, Rocs had one body, one life. If the serpent swallowed the Roc…that would be it.

Aziraphale was not going to let that happen. He watched the serpent try to make that hiccupping motion to begin the swallowing process, so he lessened his light and shouted, waving his arms. “Hey! Crawly!”

Crowley paused, hissing out the sides of his mouth. He had the Roc, struggling in his jaws to be sure, but a little bit of adjustment to the right and he’d have the annoying bird on its way to his stomach, which seemed to be aching more fiercely, growling loudly in his ears, making him drool. But that…that was an angel. And it was saying the wrong name.

Sod the bird, he needed to set that right! Crowley spit out the Roc and slithered through the grass, avoiding the Hydras on the ground fighting around him, headed straight for the angel.

Aziraphale braced himself, standing his ground. He had to be quick. He’d seen Crowley strike like this before, and he knew how dangerous this could be when Crowley wasn’t just playing a joke on Hastur. Crowley, possessed, meant business.

Now or never.

As Crowley made to strike this time, he leapt up, transforming into his human form. Aziraphale caught him, pressing his back, one hand grasped tightly around his neck, the other digging hard into his hip. He was aware the strength he was exerting was making ethereal light shine out of his palms. It was burning Crowley, who writhed like a wild animal, arms flailing, hissing. Aziraphale tightened his grip of Crowley’s neck, making the serpent go still in a choked off hiss.

Aziraphale looked into the golden eyes that seemed so unfamiliar to him now. They reminded him of Crowley’s eyes in the Garden, when he was still more of a demon than he had come to be over the last 6000 years. Aziraphale leaned forward, tears running down his cheeks as he prayed, without really knowing if he was praying to God or just wishing really hard, that he would see Crowley again, as he was before. Frustrating, vain, cocky, gentle, kind, loving. 

Aziraphale leaned in and kissed him.

At first, the demon squealed in his throat, protesting, but Aziraphale’s hold was strong and burning. Ming-Shi watched as a dark goop seeped off of Crowley’s body, sizzling away in the heavenly light of Aziraphale’s wings. 

“Charity!” Anathema shook her daughter’s shoulder. “Look!”

Even the Hydras had stopped fighting. Adam turned to look, smirking, hands crossing over his chest. “Bout time,” he muttered.

Newt gasped. “Anathema! That was…”

“I know.” Anathema beamed. Just like her ancestors many years before her, she had looked at just one prophesy of Agnes Nutter’s before burning “The Further Prophesies.”

“And 'i that time of hopelessness, whene the snake rises to attacke the byrd, an event that hath been awaited for sixx-thousande years shalle joinne to pass. Hither, surrounded by Helle baests, an angelle and a demonne shalle unite 'i Love for the firste time.”

Aziraphale held onto Crowley, tears still streaming down his face. He was desperately hoping for a sign that Crowley was back, that the possession was over, that they’d managed to come back on top again…!

And that was when he felt Crowley’s lips part under his, the demon’s tongue pressing against his own, and then a gasp as Crowley began to frantically kiss him back. Aziraphale was still holding him, still burning him around his neck and on his hip, but that didn’t seem to matter. Aziraphale trembled, gasping, never wanting the kiss to end. Crowley was here, Crowley was back. Crowley was…falling?

“Crowley!” Aziraphale finally broke the kiss as Crowley crumbled in his arms, eyes closed, passed out. He looked pale and his body was shivering slightly, cold to the touch. A rather impressive handprint of scar tissue was stretched across the demon’s throat, looking red and raw and angry. His lips were blue, as were his fingernails, and his heart was beating erratically. But he was alive, and back to his old self. Aziraphale could see the remnants of the poison lying at his feet. 

Ming-Shi came out from around Aziraphale, Feng heavily dropping on her arm. He looked shaken and was missing a fair bit of his feathers, but otherwise seemed okay. The demon, however…Ming-Shi could sense that his strength had been drained completely by the poison. “Is he going to be okay?” She asked, looking up innocently at the angel, the wind blowing softly through her hair.

Aziraphale nodded, setting Crowley down gently in the grass. “He’s going to be fine.” He snapped his fingers and Crowley’s sword appeared beside him. The angel picked up the sword, hissing in pain as the cursed object burned him. Oh. So this is how Crowley felt being on consecrated ground. The burn wasn’t as bad as Hellfire would be, but it was certainly uncomfortable. 

He didn’t have time to drop the sword and make a new weapon, though, for just then, the female Hydra roared in anger and charged them both. Aziraphale aimed the sword just right, impaling the beast in just the right way, making the creature turn to ash.

But that wasn’t the only female Hydra, it seemed. The female had elected to split herself, and now she was leading a pack of smaller males. Aziraphale, switching the sword between his hands, wondered how he could fight this way. 

“Ming-Shi!” 

Adam and Dog had run over to see what was going on, with the others rushing to keep up. Panting, Adam nodded to Ming-Shi. “Remember. Your powers are infinite. The world will listen to you right now.”

Ming-Shi nodded and imagined very hard that she was holding a heavenly weapon. A gold bow with silver arrows appeared in her arms, and the Daughter of God, exhausted, smiled. “Aziraphale, principality of Earth, Guardian of the Child of God,” she said, beaming, “I offer you a weapon.”

Aziraphale dropped the cursed sword and eagerly took the bow and arrow. “Yes, this will do nicely. Thank you, Ming-Shi.”

“You’re welcome.” Ming-Shi nodded to Feng and the Roc crowed. 

The demons, regrouping, were ready to charge again. But Aziraphale and Ming-Shi both had weapons of their own. Feng, sitting on Ming-Shi’s shoulder, seemed to lend her his wings, for two black wings grew from her back. Azuraphale drew his bow, his eyes sparkling as bright as Heaven itself.

The two rushed down to meet the armies of Hell, both protecting the ones they loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had some help from this generator for the Old English, but I added more "e"s and a few alternate spellings:
> 
> https://lingojam.com/ModernEnglishtoOldEnglish
> 
> Nearly there now, folks!


	16. Brigade

Crowley groaned, sitting up weakly. He could barely pinpoint all of his injuries and where they all were because he had so many wounds, it was like he was hurt all over. Which is exactly what he was, when it came right down to it.

“Uncle Crow!” 

Crowley barely had enough time to react before Charity barreled into him at full speed, her arms wrapping tightly around his neck. Crowley had to actually spread his wings out to keep his balance, falling back a little bit anyway from the sheer force of their bodies colliding like that. He winced as her arm scraped against the burn on his neck and the waistband of his trousers rubbed against the burn on his hip. He chuckled. “Whoa, easy there,” he rasped, realizing his voice was a bit rough from being nearly choked by Aziraphale. He felt his jacket getting damp, and realized she was crying. “Charity…what’s the matter?”

“I…” Charity’s voice was thick with sobs. “I thought…I thought you were evil!”

Crowley embraced her, rocking her slightly, shushing her gently. “Shh, shh…it’s all right.” He glanced up as Newt and Anathema came near and lifted his head. 

“Do you remember what happened?” Anathema asked.

“What exactly did happen?” Newt demanded, his eyes hurt and burning with fury.

Crowley sighed. “I was…possessed, if you will. Hydras, the females of the species, have poison in their spines. It’s mind control.” He shuddered, remembering the screaming well of voices in his head, all vying for attention. It had felt a bit like drowning in ink. Its opacity made it hard to find the surface, until his own voice had been rescued by an angel’s kiss. Aziraphale’s kiss. 

Anathema knelt down, resting a hand on his arm. “Are you better now?” 

“I’m back in control of my own head, at least,” Crowley replied. He wasn’t sure if he would call his current state “better.” The only thing keeping his body warm was Charity, and shock from the burns and hypothermia from the chill in his bones was beginning to set in. Not to mention his stomach was littered with puncture wounds from the spikes, and his shoulder was bleeding through his shirt. 

Charity pulled back. She had been resting on the shoulder that the Hydra had bitten, but Crowley’s jacket was thick enough that the blood had to soak through a few layers before it got to the top. Still… “You smell like blood,” she said, shuddering. 

“Sorry, little mite,” Crowley smiled lopsidedly, messing up her hair playfully. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

Charity leaned against his shoulder. “I thought you were a bad guy, Uncle Crow,” she murmured, wringing her hands together. “I thought Uncle Zira was going to kill you.”

Crowley smiled, closing his eyes as he remembered Aziraphale’s words from years before. “I don’t think he could kill anything. Even if he wanted to.”

Anathema and Newt let out a breath. But then, Dog’s barking alerted them. 

Adam ran up to them, out of breath. “The Hydras have regrouped,” he panted. “The other one, the one that attacked Crowley, is splitting apart on her own. Aziraphale and Ming-Shi are overwhelmed!”

“What?’ Crowley sat up. “I have to help them.” He put Charity down in the grass and, groaning and panting with effort, began to get shakily to his feet.

“Are you crazy?!” Adam shouted. “You’re out of energy! You’ll die if you help them!”

Crowley wobbled on his feet and nearly fell, except Newt and Anathema caught him and shifted him around to support him. “But if I don’t, they will.” His eyes burned with resolute fire. “I have to fight, Adam. It’s the only way.” He nodded to where his sword lay in the grass. “Get that for me, will you?”

“What will you do?” Anathema asked. “There’s too many of them to kill!”

“We can do it.” Crowley rasped, coughing, crying out as his stomach contorted with the effort. 

Anathema put her hand out to push him back up, and it came away bloody. “Crowley…” 

“Please,” Crowley pleaded. “Please help me get down there. I can’t let them fight alone.”

It would be unwise to argue with a demon, especially one who said “please.” So Anathema and Newt supported Crowley and Adam had his sword, Charity and Dog following at their heels. 

Crowley owed Aziraphale his life. It was only fair that he returned the favor.

Meanwhile, Aziraphale and Ming-Shi were struggling to fight off the Hydras. Their heavenly lights were helping, but Ming-Shi wasn’t at full power yet, like Adam had been during the Not-Pocalypse. Even with Feng lending her his power, they weren’t strong enough. 

When Crowley saw them, he pushed off of Anathema and Newt, adrenaline rushing through his veins as he grabbed the sword from Adam. Wings still spread, he fluttered over to Aziraphale’s side. “Need a hand, old friend?”

Aziraphale looked at the demon as if he’d hung up the sun. “Crowley! You’re alive!”

“Bloody right I am.” Crowley drew his sword and directed his power forward along with Ming-Shi and his angel. Holy Child, angel, and demon combined their powers together like a beam of power. As they remaining Hydras charged, the three beings fired their beam at them, and a blinding blanket of light fell over the field before them, drowning out all of existence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed the name of this chapter to "Brigade" because it fits better. Also, the fic was conceived while I was listening to TWRP's "Starlight Brigade" so...it's only fair, right?


	17. After

The light cleared at least, fading away from the edges of the universe as the world seemed to piece itself together again. The Hydras were gone, vanquished at last through their combined might. Really quite an impressive thing for two heavenly beings and a creature of Hell to do together. The breeze was gentle instead of whipping. And their human party cried in delight and victory.

Aziraphale and Crowley, having averted the Apocalypse once more, looked at each other and began to laugh, the kind of nervous laughter that often bubbles up in your chest after something unbelievable has just occurred before your eyes, and the only reaction you can think of, the only thing your body knows how to do, is laugh. Ming-Shi, thankfully not looking any worse for wear (oh the strength of the young and half-human!), turned around and hugged both Aziraphale and Crowley tightly.

“Thank you,” she said with feeling, looking into both of their eyes. “Because of you, I’m safe. Both of you.” 

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” Crowley said, bowing his head in shame. “I hope you’ll forgive me…I wasn’t in control of myself.” Aziraphale rested a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Ming-Shi took Crowley hand in her own and squeezed it gently. “I forgive you, Serpent of Eden. Please don’t let guilt eat away at you.” She then took Aziraphale’s hand and drew it towards Crowley’s. The angel took the demon’s hand, and the two smiled warmly at each other.

Ming-Shi smiled indulgently and pulled away from them, calling Feng to her. The raven landed on her arm, and Aziraphale noticed that the colors of the ribbon wrapped around the bird’s ankle were black and white, perfectly intertwined. He blushed.

The Daughter of God beamed up at them. “My mama and I have prepared a victory feast for you and your friends,” she beckoned them, turning away and darting up the hill. “Come on!” Feng took off into the sky, cawing and soaring above their heads.

“Ooh, a feast!” Aziraphale rubbed his hands together, letting their hands drop. “How exciting! I can’t wait to taste all the local cuisine!” He was honestly a bit worn down himself. So much energy had been expended in today’s fight, much more than he was used to, and he was starving. 

The group started up the hill, Ming-Shi and Charity leading the way, the Pulsifers and Adam and Dog following behind.

Crowley put his hands in his pockets, smiling at Aziraphale. He felt empty and weak, his limbs still wobbling a bit under his weight, his heart beating faster, his breathing heavier than it would be normally, even with climbing a hill. Aziraphale noticed and stopped to wait up for him, even though he could hear, if faintly, Charity and Ming-Shi calling for them to hurry. “Are you quite all right, Crowley?”

Crowley nodded, the ache in his body now returning in full force. “Yeah, ‘course. Just a bit tired.” He gave Aziraphale a small smile. “Being possessed wasn’t exactly the time of my life.”

Aziraphale tutted. “I’d imagine you could do with a bit of that feast, then. Come on, my dear, I’ll help you.” He carefully climbed back down the small outcropping he was standing on and wrapped an arm around Crowley’s waist, letting the demon rest on his shoulder. “Just pick up your feet, dear, and leave everything to me.” Aziraphale spread his wings out wide and Crowley, obediently, hung on tightly, getting Aziraphale carry him up to the house. It was nice knowing he could have someone to rely on, and even nicer to know the angel could hold his own, if ever the need arose. Crowley was hoping it wouldn’t, hoping he would always be there to help his angel. But if today was any indication, then he was glad at least that, in theory, Aziraphale could fight.

Well, he supposed it was obvious that the angel had been trained to fight. But training and inclination were two separate beasts entirely.

Once they were nearly in sight of the house, Aziraphale set Crowley down and hid his wings. Crowley leaned away from Aziraphale a bit, but his head spun and he began to list to the side. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Aziraphale murmured calmly, catching Crowley again and setting his arm about his neck, his own warm arm clasped around Crowley’s back. “Easy now. I’ll walk you up there.”

Crowley shook his head. “I’ve got to walk,” he protested weakly. “Charity’ll worry ‘bout me.”

“Shh,” Aziraphale soothed. “She’ll be fine. She’s looking after Ming-Shi. Besides, you’re bleeding!” The angel stiffened, looking away as tears fell from his eyes again. “Crowley…I was so scared. I thought…I thought I’d never get to talk to you ever again.”

Crowley remembered the screaming that had dominated his brain whilst he’d been possessed, the mind-melting, heart-numbing throb of the constant overwhelming sound, how the more he tried to fight it, the more it sapped his energy, starving him of hope, just like Famine. Lucky thing he was just plain starving now, thanks in part to the possession. But he didn’t dare say that; if his poor angel found out he was as empty as the endless walkways of Heaven, the pit of his belly just as cavernous, the growls bouncing off the walls and echoing, aching to be full, well…he’d be in for a lecture, for one, and have to deal with Aziraphale’s guilt-ridden face for another. So he didn’t. What he said instead was: “I will always come back to you.”

“Is that a promise?” Aziraphale asked, his voice shaking just a bit.

Crowley tilted his head against Aziraphale’s shoulder and nodded. “Yes it’s a promise. The most solemn promise a demon can make. I am yours, angel. When have I ever left you truly alone?”  
Aziraphale turned, his lips pressed against Crowley’s forehead in a smile. “Never,” he whispered, kissing the demon. “I’ll hold you to that promise, Crowley. That’s as good as a contract, you know.”

Crowley nodded, blushing from the kiss. “I know.”

God, but did he ever love his angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little short resolution chapter before we get to the end! 
> 
> I'll probably post some mood boards and little fun facts in the last chapter, if I can figure out how to add an image...haha -_-' 
> 
> We've still got a little bit to go yet, though! Never fear! Thanks for sticking with me thus far! I love reading your comments and seeing what you think!


	18. Stars

“Oh! I almost forgot!” Aziraphale stopped short, jerking Crowley back a half step and making the demon wince in pain. “I should heal your wounds! You’ll feel much better. I’ll start…” he shifted with ease, turning Crowley around to face him, holding him gently, “with that nasty burn on your neck.” He frowned, his eyes sad, sighing shakily. “I…I’m so sorry, about burning you. I…almost feel as though I…breeched consent.” The angel rested his palm against Crowley’s cheek, making the demon’s breath hitch just a bit. 

Crowley’s eyes flowed closed. “Are you really worried about that?” He breathed.

“Yes.” Aziraphale’s hand slid down, cupping gently against the burn. Crowley cracked his neck as the pain bled away. “Angels aren’t meant to do anything that would…make someone uncomfortable.”

The demon opened his eyes, two golden gemstones staring earnestly back at Aziraphale. “How can you think that?” He asked, his voice gentle and sincere. “I was possessed. That wasn’t me, struggling against you!” He gasped as Aziraphale pressed his hand against his hip, healing the other burn. “I kissed you back once I came to my senses.”

Aziraphale sighed, looking away guiltily. Crowley brushed his fingers against Aziraphale jacket, tenderly miracling away some of his own blood that was staining the white clothes. “I love you, Aziraphale,” he murmured. “I have for nearly 6000 years, and…” he smirked. “…maybe I wouldn’t exactly be opposed to a bit of roughness, in future.”

Aziraphale gasped, scandalized, and swatted at him. “Cheeky!”

“I mean it!” Crowley laughed. 

“Do you?” Aziraphale rested a hand on his shoulder, watching Crowley melt into the warmth as the angelic healing flowed through him. 

“Well, I always did find that scene fascinating, especially after…”

“Not that part!” Aziraphale blushed, making Crowley lift his head. “The, um…the other part.”

“Yes.” Crowley searched his angel’s eyes. “Felt like it finally needed saying.”

Aziraphale smiled, his hands sliding down to Crowley’s waist, making the demon loop his arms around Aziraphale’s shoulders in response. “I love you, too. For at least as long as you have.”

“I know,” Crowley sighed, shifting back as the angel’s arms found the nasty wound on his stomach. But the healing didn’t come right away. Not this time.

“Your stomach’s empty.” The demon could hear the frown in the angel’s voice.  
Crowley shrugged listlessly. “So’s yours, probably.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale tutted, fussing. “I know I should’ve been paying attention to what you were eating!”

“Felle,” Crowley lifted his head, gently bumping his nose against the angel’s. “I’ll be fine. I promise. I’m going to eat so much food, I’ll probably discorporate!”

Aziraphale laughed softly, and Crowley couldn’t help smiling. He swore the angel’s laughter could make even demons grow feathers on their wings. “You can’t discorporate from eating too much, Crowley. I think your stomach would stretch, anyway. You are a snake.”

“Yeah, speaking of that,” Crowley coughed and a few black feathers fluttered out of his mouth. “I think I owe the Roc an apology. What’s she calling it again?”

“Feng.”

“Yeah, that.” Crowley made a face. “The possession…it took advantage of the fact that I…” he sighed. “I haven’t been eating nearly as much as I should, angel. I can’t go hungry anymore, not when there’s a chance that…”

Aziraphale gently healed the wounds on Crowley’s stomach, his injury sensing fingers tingling against the gnawing hunger sitting in the demon’s gut. He didn’t need to heal that, not when there was food close at hand. But he wanted to alleviate the demon’s guilt. “The Hydra would have possessed you, anyway,” he said gently. “It would’ve found something else to take advantage of to make you do what it wanted.” He smiled. “I can’t exactly blame you for not being hungry after…expelling matter in that way.”

Crowley frowned, remembering his vomiting episode in the woods. “I suppose.”

Aziraphale pressed a kiss to Crowley’s forehead, chuckling as both their stomachs growled. “Come on, old friend.” He adjusted Crowley, supporting him again. “Let’s go.”

Crowley smiled, tilting his head against Aziraphale’s shoulder. The petals of the liliflora tickled his nose. Aziraphale had remembered the flower; it was pinned to his lapel, looking as fresh as if it had just been picked.

Knowing Aziraphale, he’d keep the flower forever, preserved in one of his little trinket boxes that sat in what should, reasonably, be his bedroom, if he ever slept. 

Knowing that made Crowley extremely happy, like the day he’d helped to hang the stars.

Stars he could share with an Earth, and an angel, that he loved.

~

They were soon all sat under the pavilion, overlooking the growing vegetables, the pens for the ducks and chickens, the quiet, peaceful mountainside. Crowley, still quite weak, was propped up against one of the posts in the far corner, one leg up against his chest and the other sprawled out under the table, tangled around Aziraphale’s feet. Anathema and Newt were chattering amongst themselves and Charity was asking Adam about being the Antichrist. (Her parents had told her, figuring secrets were useless now.) Dog and Feng were talking amongst themselves about whatever it was celestial and occult animal companions talked about, in their own language of head tilts, facial expressions, blinks, and flaps of wings or wags of tails. Aziraphale would chime in on the conversation here and there, but Crowley remained silent, happy to just observe.

Ming-Shi served wheat beer and pomegranate tea first, which Crowley liberally poured for himself. And then Ai brought out the food. 

Fried shitake mushrooms, braised lamb in soy sauce, dry bamboo shoot and cursed ham stir fry, pork and bamboo buns, golden rice, pickled radish duck soup, roasted duck, and fo tiao, which was a dish that had basically every flavor.

It was all so good, and the coming night promised a bit of a chill, so Crowley was glad for all of the warm, hearty food nearby, and the company of good friends to boot.

Friends. Who knew a demon could actually have friends?!

Ai, Ming-Shi, and her grandmother finally joined them as well, setting up a fire around the porch, lighting citronella to keep the bugs away. Charity went to sit beside Ming-Shi on little soft cushions on the ground, and the adults at the table passed wheat beer and cherry wine and pairs of chopsticks hurried to serve.

It seemed as though Ming-Shi’s miracles were at work, for the food never seemed to run out, no matter how much they ate, and their appetites seemed to renew just as they were getting full. Human stomachs can only hold so much, but an angel and a demon can easily gorge themselves as long as they want to.

Crowley was getting very full again. He’d sprawled significantly more as he’d swallowed more dumplings, more duck and pork, his stomach a warm and heavy weight against him, keeping the chill of the night away. Subtly rubbing a hand against the side of his stomach to encourage digestion, he reached to pour himself more wine, taking a small sip.

His appetite began to return, and he realized that Ming-Shi had enchanted the drinks as well as the food, making the feast an endless cycle that could well continue until he and Aziraphale had eaten themselves sick. Though, it seemed, as soon as the thought occurred, the miracle stopped working. Crowley looked to Aziraphale and wondered if maybe, just maybe, he’d had something to do with it.

Crowley had miracled himself some glasses to avoid scaring Ai and her mother, and now, stretching luxuriously with a groan, he nudged Aziraphale with his foot. “Cheeky angel.”  
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Aziraphale replied, but he had a prideful look on his face as he sipped his wine. “Are you enjoying the food?”

“Yes, I am,” Crowley muffled a burp, reaching for a pork trotter liberally soaked in soy sauce and putting it to his lips. “Are you?”

“Quite.” Aziraphale used his chopsticks to grab a cherry dessert dumpling and popped it into his mouth. “All this local food is such a treat! I want so badly to learn how to make it all!”

“I think Ming-Shi miracled the drinks to give us all an appetite,” Crowley hummed, resting a hand contentedly on his belly with a sigh. “I’ve been getting full and then hungry again for hours, it feels like.”

Aziraphale shrugged. “Well. Maybe you just needed that much food.” But he was blushing, clearly found out.

Crowley smiled fondly. “Felle, love,” he rested his hand on top of Aziraphale’s on the table. “I’m fine. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Okay.” Aziraphale sighed. Crowley gave him a Look from overtop his sunglasses and the angel ran a hand through his hair in agitation. “All right, look, I…I know what you went through, thinking that you lost me. I thought I’d be trapped in Heaven and forced to go to war, and I didn’t want that. Not when Heaven wasn’t going to pardon you.” He looked earnestly at Crowley. “And now you’re weak and hurting, barely able to stand…” He grabbed the demon’s hand, holding it tightly. “I’ve got you back. I can’t lose you again.”

Crowley sat up, his leg falling onto the other side of the bench. His foot touched Aziraphale’s. “Hey, angel? Look at me.” The demon rested his palm against Aziraphale’s cheek. “I promise I’m going to take care of myself from now on. I promise I’m going to be beside you, enjoying life just like you do. I promise to involve you in everything I can. Like I’ve been doing for 6000 years. Like I will do for many more.” He leaned in, pressing his lips against Aziraphale’s. “I love you, Felle.”

Aziraphale chased the affection, smiling. “I love you, too.” He sighed. “I’m sorry I tempted you.”

“Well, I don’t mind too much.” Crowley admitted, making Aziraphale laugh. “I just should probably start eating soon before I start to look like an engorged snake.” He leaned back, crossing one leg over the other, content to sit and digest for a while. He kept Aziraphale’s hand, though.

As it got darker, Ai went around lighting lanterns and Ming-Shi went to put on a CD player that was hooked up to an old outdoor stereo system. The two children, one human and one decidedly less so, played in the garden, chasing each other to run off their food, as children did. Adam snuck bites of food to Dog, busy on his phone. Anathema and Newt watched their daughter play, leaning on each other as satiation and a pleasant buzz from the alcohol took over. Crowley dozed, and Aziraphale watched him, content in his bones.

~

The slow tinkling of a melody woke Crowley after some time. The demon stretched, yawning, and glanced over at Aziraphale. “May I have this dance?”

Aziraphale blushed. “Angels don’t dance.”

Crowley made a “pssht” sound and sprang up. “Nonsense. C’mon.”

Aziraphale let Crowley lead him closer to the source of the music and further way from the lanterns, to an area of the garden by the little stream that bubbled merrily. Little fish swam around inside, gleaming in the moonlight. A barn cat sat curled up between the rocks on the side of the stream and a few tall ferns, blinking at them with round, green eyes.

Crowley held out his hand, beaming, and Aziraphale took it. With his other hand, Crowley removed his glasses, showing Aziraphale that his eyes were faintly glowing in the low light. But, then, so were Aziraphale’s, twinkling like stars.

“Here,” Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s waist, their stomachs brushing together, making Aziraphale blush. “Put your arms on my shoulders. Yes, like that. It’s like a waltz, but less structured.” He began to guide Aziraphale in a little two-step, not so much dancing as rocking, moving together in a gentle motion. “See? It’s not that hard.”

“No,” Aziraphale cleared his throat, watching Crowley closely. “No, it isn’t, really.”

They silently danced for a while, watching each other. Aziraphale eventually pulled Crowley closer, resting his head against Crowley’s chest.

“What does the flower mean?” Aziraphale asked, closing his eyes.

“Hmm?” Crowley asked, chin resting on top of Aziraphale’s head.

“The flower. The liliflora you gave me. You said it means something, but you never got around to explaining it.”

“Oh.” Crowley chuckled. “The Chinese give it to people they love, as a gift. Sort of like roses in the west.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale pulled back, gazing up adoringly at Crowley. It was rather a lot of responsibility, the demon thought, to be looked at like that. “Oh. Then I’ll have to cherish it forever.”

“You already were going to, anyway, angel,” Crowley said fondly. “You hoard things. Like a magpie.” He nuzzled Aziraphale, smiling into another kiss.

The angel smiled, tucking his head under Crowley’s chin. “I wasn’t born until after the Fall, you know. I…I think that’s why I never really…understood.”

“Mm,” Crowley hummed. “I never understood, either, until I witnessed the Flood.” He sighed. “It was a promise the Almighty couldn’t go back on.”

Aziraphale shifted, looking up at Crowley. “How old are you, then?”

“Older than stardust,” Crowley replied. “I helped mold galaxies and plan constellations. My wings, then, had ice clinging to them, because I was always in space.”

Aziraphale chuckled. 

“You were born after the stars were made,” Crowley went on. “Long after. Probably one of the angels created after the Fall, too young to remember Her wrath.”

“Mm,” Aziraphale hummed, hugging Crowley around the neck. “I was made to love you.”

Crowley flushed pink, swallowing. “You, er…really believe that, then? That The Ineffable Plan includes us?”

“Obviously.” Aziraphale asserted, sounding adorably sleepy. “We wouldn’t have ended up like this otherwise.”

Crowley tilted his head up towards the stars, thinking about flying around through space, making stars and galaxies. He thought about if Aziraphale had never been made, if the Fall had never happened, and shuddered to think of it.

He used to regret Falling, but…not now. How could he? He had everything he wanted.

It didn’t matter what color his wings were. He still had Aziraphale. And that was better than all the stars in the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm too dedicated to fluff to make this as feederism-focused as I'd originally intended, clearly. So, uh, for those who aren't as kinky as I am...you're welcome.
> 
> Including a lot of my own headcanons here, including Crowley being older than Aziraphale, as Aziraphale was part of the new population of angels that were created after the Fall. 
> 
> I'm so sleepy...but I did this for you. And to stave off a panic attack. Hm.


	19. Fireworks

The song cut off and Crowley and Aziraphale stopped dancing, still locked in each other’s arms. Their clothes were still a bit worse for wear, though probably not as bad as they had been before. Unconscious miracles were quite common amongst beings as old as they were.

“Uncle Crow! Uncle Zira!”

The demon and angel leaned away from each other just a fraction at the familiar cry. Charity and Ming-Shi, holding hands and flanked by Feng, were running down the path towards them. 

“C’mon!” Charity encouraged, grabbing Crowley’s hand and tugging hard. “There’s gonna be a meteor shower!”

“Oh, is there?” Crowley gave Aziraphale a mischievous look. 

“Yeah,” Ming-Shi replied confidently, nodding. “Once everyone’s settled.” She reached out for Aziraphale’s hand, tugging on it just like Charity was tugging Crowley.

“All right, all right!” Crowley laughed, gently freeing his hand from Charity’s grasp. “I only just got all my limbs back, and I’d like to keep them!”

“Our young Savior seems to be settling into her powers quite nicely,” Aziraphale mused, lacing his arm through Crowley’s. Back in Victorian times, this could be seen as a friendly gesture. It was currently serving to telegraph his relationship with Crowley. “A meteor shower? What a treat!”

Crowley nodded. “Mm. I haven’t seen a meteor shower in ages.” He smiled warmly at Aziraphale. “You know, I had something to do with that idea.”

“You did?” Aziraphale turned his open, expressive face upward looking for all the world like a child who has just been told they’re being taken to Disney World. “Crowley…that’s wonderful!” 

And then Crowley remembered; Aziraphale was young. At least by angel standards. He’d missed out on the creation of, well, creation! Or most of the backbone of creation, anyway, seeing as all the animals and such were made after the Fall. Aziraphale had never known the joy of holding a star in his hands, the magic of blowing a galaxy into existence. 

He’d try to describe it all, but Crowley was nowhere near literate enough to do so. He could only describe it as “elation.”

“Yeah,” Crowley smiled, eyes turning skyward. “I thought it would be cool if, sometimes, a little bit of space ended up on Earth. I wanted the beings on Earth, whatever they were going to be, to appreciate the stars.” He sighed. “I did it without asking Gabriel and the other archangels. I was reprimanded. And that, I think, planted the seed of rebellion in me.”

“All for wanting to share your creation,” Aziraphale rested his head on Crowley’s shoulder. “It doesn’t seem right. I’m sorry.”

“Felle,” Crowley says gently, looking down at the angel adoringly, “I want you to know…I don’t regret it.” He nuzzles into Aziraphale’s cloud-soft, starlight white hair and presses a kiss there that makes the angel purr and follow his touch. “I never fit in with angels, and I’m a rotten demon, but that doesn’t matter. I have you.”

The angel’s face grew pink like the petals of the liliflora. “I’m glad I’m not with the angels anymore. It’s so much more…invigorating, being with you.”

Crowley couldn’t help the not-very-demonic giggle that bubbled up from his throat.

They came back to find Anathema and Newt sitting on the ground under the pavilion. Adam and Dog were sitting on a blanket nearby. They were talking and laughing, but looked up and waved at the couple. Aziraphale and Crowley waved back. Charity and Ming-Shi were talking to Ai excitedly, while her grandmother looked on, smiling. 

“There’s a blanket for you two there,” Anathema called, pointing to a thick picnic blanket spread out with a perfect view of the vast and beautiful sky. 

“Enjoy the show!” Newt called excitedly.

“Don’t give us one!” Adam shouted. Dog barked an affirmative.

Aziraphale laughed nervously and Crowley blushed. They got comfortable on the blanket, Crowley sprawling with his legs out before him and Aziraphale with his legs crossed close to his body. As soon as they were comfortable, they were ambushed by the two children.

“Can we watch the meteor shower with you?” Charity asked, bouncing heavily onto Crowley’s legs, making the demon groan in surprise.

“I don’t see why not,” Crowley said, watching as Ming-Shi climbed into Aziraphale’s lap, curling up comfortably against his chest.

“You owe Feng an apology,” Ming-Shi piped up, looking at Crowley with what could only be described as a glare.

Crowley held out his arm, just as he’d seen Ming-Shi do, and the Roc seemed to materialize out of nowhere, swooping down to settle on his arm. The bird shoot itself, fluttering its wings absently, and fixed Crowley with such severity that the demon felt as though he could be turned to ash at any instant. “I’m sorry I tried to eat you,” he said contritely. Though he could admit his own wrongdoings much easier than other demons, the apology still had a bit of a weird aftertaste. “I wasn’t myself.”

The Roc seemed to regard Crowley with suspicion for a moment before squawking and inclining his head. The demon stroked two fingers down the bird’s head, feeling the silky softness of sleek, black feathers beneath the pads of his fingers.

“He says he forgives you,” Ming-Shi replied. Crowley lowered his arm so Charity could pet Feng, too. “Look!” The Daughter of God pointed to the sky. “It’s starting!”

Feng took off to land on a nearby tree as bright flashes of light lit up the sky. Streaks of falling stars zoomed across the sky. Muffled “ooh”s and “aah”s from the human audience began to rise up around them. Angel and demon, though, sat side by side, quietly watching the spectacle.

“It’s beautiful,” Aziraphale murmured. Crowley looked over just as a meteor passed, looking at the way the starlight caught the ethereal glow in Aziraphale’s storm-colored eyes. His eyes were beautiful, like the color of that first storm that the angel had shielded him from, cementing their friendship and the relationship that had developed between them over their many years of life. 

If an occult being could grow old, Crowley thought, there would be no one else on Earth he’d rather grow old with.

The demon placed his hand over Aziraphale’s on the blanket, their fingers weaving between each other. The night was perfect. They were content and warm and next to each other. 

Everything was right with the world once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: "Ai" (Ming-Shi's mother's name) means "love" in Chinese. This is the same meaning that "Mary" (Jesus' mom) has. (Or...one of the meanings.)
> 
> Never let it be said I don't put symbolism in my novels. ;)


	20. Morrow

The meteor shower began to die down. Less stars flew across the sky, and clouds began to roll in to cover the moon. Crowley glanced over at Aziraphale, and smiled, watching the angel gently cradle the half-asleep child in his arms.

“She’s exhausted,” Aziraphale murmured. “Poor lamb. She’s had a rough day.”

“Mm,” Crowley shifted against the warm weight of Charity against his chest. She was heavy and mostly asleep, but it was comforting in a way. He hadn’t wanted to upset her, or make her think she couldn’t trust him. The fact that he was a demon, something typically depicted as universally terrifying, had nearly undone all of that. He was glad that it hadn’t. “We should take them back to their parents.” He yawned, feeling rather sleepy himself. It had been a long day for all of them, after all.

Carefully, so as not to disturb the children, Crowley and Aziraphale got to their feet. Aziraphale gently adjusted Ming-Shi so that she could rest her head on his shoulder, and Crowley encouraged Charity to wrap her arms around his neck.

Ai approached them, smiling. “Charity is welcome to stay in Ming-Shi’s room,” she told them, taking Ming-Shi from Aziraphale.

“Oh, er, we’re not Charity’s, um…” Crowley sounded as if his tongue was too big for his mouth, the way he was butchering such a simple sentence.

“I’ll take it from here,” Anathema appeared rather suddenly and conveniently, as she tended to do, holding out her arms for her daughter. Crowley bent down a little to make the transfer easier, Charity stirring as she readjusted herself against her mother. Ming-Shi, Crowley noticed, was sucking her thumb. “You said they can share a room, Ai Ling?”

“Yes,” Ai replied, beckoning. “This way.”

Crowley and Aziraphale watched them go fondly. Crowley snarled through a yawn, stretching is arms out over his head. He was warm and content and beside his angel. The world was saved, and he could feel the exhaustion in his bones. Honestly, what better reason to sleep?

Aziraphale brushed his fingers against Crowley’s, lacing them together, then placed his other hand over theirs, running his thumb over Crowley’s knuckles. “Are you going to sleep, my love?”

Crowley nodded, reaching under his glasses to rub his eyes. “I’m not the only one who will sleep like a log tonight, I suspect.” He inclined his head towards where Newt was helping Adam up off the grass. The Antichrist looked adorably sleepy, his dirty blonde curls swept over his forehead and getting in his eyes. He bent to pick up Dog, yawning cavernously. Newt clapped him on the back and clumsily made his way down the path to find his wife, Adam following behind, dragging his feet.

“Who knew Adam would ever look so human?” Aziraphale murmured. “Simply incredible.”

“Even at the airfield, he didn’t smell as strongly of Hell as when I delivered him,” Crowley mused. “That night, he smelled like an open flame, fire and brimstone. Now, he smells like Axe body spray.”

Aziraphale snorted. “Let’s hope for his sake he decides that’s a bad idea.”

“Mmm,” Crowley leaned down to nuzzle against Aziraphale’s forehead, a choked-up tightness rising in his throat when the angel nuzzled him back. “I don’t mind if you’re the most pleasant scent around me for the rest of eternity.”

“Right, yes, and what was that you said about liking things rough?” Aziraphale turned towards him, raising a mischievous eyebrow, his eyes glinting like the tempter he could be if he put his mind to it.

Crowley sputtered, blushing. “Timing, angel. Christ.”

“She’s just there, in the main house.”

Crowley thunked his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder in defeat, though he was hiding his smile at hearing the angel chuckling at his own cleverness. “Please stop, angel. You’re killing me.”

“Oi!” Adam called. “You lovebirds coming to the guest house or what?” Dog barked shrilly.

“I resent that!” Crowley called, straightening up immediately. “I’m a sssserpent, not a bird!” To demonstrate, he flickered his snake tongue at Adam.

“Whatever,” Adam rolled his eyes. “C’mon, I’m tired.”

“We’re coming, Adam,” Aziraphale giggled, while Crowley snarled: “I’ll smite you.”

“No you won’t,” Adam grinned, wrapping an arm around Crowley’s waist, Dog leaping out of his arms. Crowley jumped, startled by the affection, but soon put his arm around Adam’s shoulders. The boy put his other arm around Aziraphale’s waist. “I think you did the right thing,” he said at last, “not letting me destroy the world, or be dragged to hell by Satan. I know you don’t get a lot of credit for it, but…” he grinned up at both of them. “Thanks.”

“Well, it is what we do,” Aziraphale replied. “We both kind of became Earth’s guardians, after all.” He smiled at Crowley.

“And yours, by default. After all, can’t let a teenager burn the world just because he earned a D in Maths.” Crowley groused teasingly, groaning when Adam elbowed him in the gut. “Hey!”

“Well, you did deserve that, my dear,” Aziraphale chuckled.

~

There were two beds and a mattress on the floor, which Adam and Dog claimed as their own, which left Newt and Anathema the bed in the corner, and Crowley and Aziraphale the bed by the window. The lights in the room were turned down, the window was left ajar to let the night breeze in, and suitcases were transported via miracle so that everyone could change and brush their teeth.

As Crowley had predicted, the humans (and mostly human and former Hellhound) fell asleep almost immediately. Newt’s soft snoring mixed with the whimpers of Dog’s dreams, and the wind whispered through the leaves and grasses outside the window.

Aziraphale lay on his back, looking over some miracled-up materials on the panda sanctuary in Chengdu, supported by three more pillows that hadn’t been on the bed previously. Crowley was sprawled half over Aziraphale, his ear resting over his heart, sunglasses discarded, a freshly miracled throw blanket tucked around him. Aziraphale had his hand in Crowley’s hair, running through the fiery red locks fondly.

“Did you know pandas aren’t actually bears?” Aziraphale asked, his voice loud in the quiet room. 

“Felle,” Crowley hissed, “pleassse put that away. Sssleep with me.”

The angel clicked his tongue, but snapped his fingers and the brochure disappeared. He wrapped his arms around Crowley, holding him closer. “Better, love?”

“Lotssss,” Crowley closed his eyes, serpentine tongue slipping out from between his teeth and tickling Aziraphale’s chest. His angel was wearing tartan pajamas, while he would deign only to dress in finest silk, no matter the weather. It was so…them. He snuggled into the angel’s chest. “Guess we’re even, then,” he murmured.

“What’s that, dear?” Aziraphale started petting Crowley from the crown of his head to the base of his spine. He wasn’t all that exhausted, even though his energy reserves were quite low. He could spend all night watching Crowley sleep, if he was honest.

Crowley correctly took that as an ask for clarification instead of repetition. “We both thought we lost each other once,” he trailed off for a yawn. “But we’re not. Lost, I mean.” He was too tired to remain coherent much longer.

Aziraphale considered that. “I still feel as though I did you a great disservice,” he said quietly. “I never gave you a reason to assume I would return.”

There was a moment of stillness, then Crowley raised himself up over Aziraphale, his eyes flickering over the angel’s lined face. The demon leaned down to press his lips against Aziraphale’s. It was an awkward angle for a true kiss, but they managed a bit of that, their tongues gently brushing each other, licking into the sweet taste of the wet-hot mouth of the other. The angel pulled away, worrying Crowley’s lower lip gently between his teeth and making the demon whimper, leaving the angel smirking. 

“I thought you died,” Crowley said at last, his eyes locked with Aziraphale’s. “I never thought…” He swallowed. “I never thought you wouldn’t eventually go with me.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed, his eyes shining with tears. “Oh, Crowley…”

“Shh, shh, shh,” Crowley soothed, running a hand through Aziraphale’s fluffy curls. “I know it must’ve scared you, seeing me as an adversary for the first time since…well, ever, I suppose. We don’t have to compare tragedies and traumas, to see who deserves to feel more pain.” He snuggled under Aziraphale chin, fingers tightening in his sleep shirt. “We don’t have to hide that from each other, come what may.”

Aziraphale sighed shakily, wiping away the rest of his tears. “That…sounds agreeable.” He wrapped his arms tightly around Crowley’s lithe body, able to feel him warm and safe and content and drowsy in his arms.

“As does sleep.” Crowley yawned into Aziraphale neck. “Goodnight, angel. I’m beat.”

“Yes you are, rather. Beat black and blue.”

“Mmm…not yet…”

Aziraphale tutted. “You and your insinuations.” He pressed a kiss to Crowley’s temple.

“Y’love me forrem,” Crowley slurred, falling into true unconsciousness now.

Aziraphale closed his eyes and, with the demon he loved more than anything in this world (even his most prized first editions) wrapped around him like a snake around a tree, he gave himself to sleep for what could have possibly been the first time in his entire life.

~

“Would he walk on water?  
Would he run through fire?  
Would stand before you   
When it's down to the wire?  
Would he give his life up   
To be all he can?  
Is that  
How you measure a man?”  
-Clay Aiken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Measure of a Man is actually like...really sad...? Or sexist?? I'm not sure. What I do know is that those lyrics were in my head as I wrote that last scene so...there you go. 
> 
> I might end up putting some end notes in as the final chapter...I don't like leaving things on odd numbers, for whatever reason.


End file.
